Angels and Rings The Fellowship
by Anawey
Summary: Yes, I've finally jumped off the deep end. LotR/PotO cross. From 'Roses Blooming'.
1. Over The Rainbow

Angels and Rings; the Fellowship

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Yes, I've finally jumped off the deep end. LotR/PotO cross. From 'Roses Blooming'.

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Disclaimer; I don't own Lord of the Rings, or Phantom of the Opera, but I _can _claim Arabelle, Charles and Jill.

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Over the Rainbow  
XxX

Arabelle smiled, stretching beneath the blankets. She was happy. Today, she, Charles their parents, and Jillianna were going on a picnic in the woods around their home. She couldn't wait.

Standing, she moved quickly around her room, switching her nightgown to her day shift, and hooking her corset. Over that she pulled on her dress, hooked the hooks, and hurried to the bathroom to comb out her hair, and ready herself for the day.

She was downstairs, and had breakfast cooking by the time Erik and Christine came downstairs. Arabelle hugged them both tightly, smiling.

"Someone certainly is excited today," Erik commented, smiling himself.

Arabelle nodded, her yellow eyes flashing with light and eagerness.

"I cannot wait for the picnic," she admitted, flying back to the table, where she'd set out three place settings, and food. "May I bring along my violin?" Arabelle asked, eyes bright and pleading.

Erik smiled fondly.

"Of course, dearest," he promised, looking lovingly at his sixteen-year-old daughter. "Perhaps you'll play for us?"

Arabelle laughed.

"Why else would I bring along my instrument _but _to play it?" she quipped lightly, taking a bite of her breakfast.

No more than an hour later, the three of them were on their way to get Jillianna for the picnic in the woods.

Despite having outgrown the age years ago, Arabelle skipped down the roads like a schoolgirl under the spell of her first crush, Charles close at her side.

Erik laughed.

"Such energy," he marveled, sighing.

Christine took his hand.

"She's still a child, after all," she reminded him. They both are.

Erik nodded, tenderly squeezing his wife's hand.

When Jillianna opened her door to see Arabelle, she beamed, her eyes lighting up instantly.

"Are you ready, Jill?" Arabelle asked, her own eyes glowing with excitement.

The blond teen nodded, settling her light cloak around her shoulders.

"I'm eager to thee your woodth again, Arabelle," Jillianna admitted as they neared the path into the trees that surrounded her friend's house.

Within the hour, they were deep enough in the woods that the house was no longer visible. In the clearing they came across, Erik and Christine set up the picnic, while the girls, sixteen and eighteen, and Charles laughed and ran about like small children. It was wonderful.

After they ate, Arabelle played her violin. She moved the bow over the strings with a flourish, showing her skill. Twelve years of practice had made her quite accomplished, and she especially loved lively, upbeat tunes.

The four of them were out until sundown, laughing in the field. When they finally made to return home, the fading sunlight caught the grass, and the leaves, and they sparkled, as though covered with dew.

"Beautiful," Erik breathed, looking around in amazement. The others were also caught off guard by the shimmering trees and grass.

"Maybe it's _magic," _Arabelle joked.

"Yeah!" Charles agreed, wide-eyed

Jillianna laughed.

"Perhapth it ith," she giggled, joining in on her friends' joke. All three were old enough to know it was just a trick of the light, but there was no harm in pretending every now and again.

Erik wrapped an arm around each teenager, and smiled as they all headed back toward the house.

"You two," he sighed. Jillianna had become a second daughter and third child to him, she was around so much of the time.

The walk back through the woods was pleasant enough, but something tingled in the back of Erik's mind. Something wasn't right. He wasn't sure what, but something was off. Was it just his imagination, or were the trees... _denser _than before?

And when they walked out of the trees onto a dirt road, he took a deep breath to keep from panicking. He could have sworn this was the right way to go. He _knew _it was. They'd come out here before.

"I suppose we went the wrong way?" Christine said, laughing nervously.

She _knew _they'd gone the right way. They _had!_

"Isn't this just the road that leads into the woods at the end of our street?" Arabelle realized, smiling. "We can follow it home."

With a nonchalant shrug, she started skipping down the road, calling for Charles and Jillianna to join her. The blond smiled, and followed her friends.

When they came out of the woods, at the top of a steep hill, all five of them stopped dead in there tracks.

What they saw was nothing like their home. And as far as any of them knew, there was not a town on Earth that looked like this one.

There were no visible houses, only doors in many small hills, with windows.

Everything was smaller, too. The doors were only to Jillianna's shoulders, and the few people they did see, the only logical explanation for their height was that they were children. But they _couldn't _have been. Some were, but most were _clearly _adults.

"Where are we?" Arabelle whispered, withdrawing from the edge of the hill to her father's side. Jillianna joined her, frowning.

"I don't know, dearest," Erik frowned. "Let's find out. Perhaps they can point us to home."

When they passed, the small people looked up, wary and surprised. As the small group approached one, the other little humans stepped back, alarm in their eyes.

"I apologize for interrupting anything," Erik started. "Could you tell us where this is? Or how to get back to Bristol?"

The person behind the small counter looked up at Erik, and in his eyes was fear.

_The mask, _Erik realized, his heart sinking into his shoes. _These people are afraid of me. Again._

Christine stepped forward, noticing the look in the smaller being's eyes, and spoke.

"Please," she said gently. "We need to get home soon. Do you know the way? We've never been here before, and I'm afraid we're lost."

"I don't know about any Bristol place," the small person said, "but the Big folk in this area live in Bree, to the east."

"I'm sorry, where?" Arabelle asked, frowning. "There's no place called 'Bree' in Connecticut. I've looked on every map. Are we in another state or something?"

"State?" the little man behind the stall echoed. "If you mean part of the Shire, you're in the West Farthing, Hobbiton."

"Where?"

Erik's eyes registered confusion behind the mask.

"Hobbiton," the other repeated. "In the Shire. The land of Hobbits."

"Hobbits?" Erik frowned. "Excuse us a moment, please."

He turned to the others and drew them together. Before he could even speak, Arabelle voiced her idea, which had been traveling the same path as his.

"I don't think this is America," she worried.

"No," her father agreed. "That's what I was thinking."

"B-but, where are we?" Jillianna asked, her voice shaking. "What happened in the woodth?"

Arabelle's eyes widened.

"The trees!" she gasped. "Remember when they started sparkling? What if it _was _magic? Maybe we aren't even in our world! Oh, Papa, what do we do now?"

Erik closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.

"I do not know, dear-heart," he said quietly. "But I promise, I will protect you all. I swear it. I'll see us all home again. Don't you worry."

"I with we knew where we are," Jillianna whispered.

Erik smiled gently, laying a hand on her small shoulder.

"I know, my dear," he calmed. "I know. Everything will be alright, I promise."

"Are you lost?"

The voice was soft, but male, and it came from behind them. Everyone turned to see one of these – hobbits, were they? – standing there, regarding them with gentle curiosity.

He had curling black hair, and large blue eyes. His skin was light, and he smiled slightly.

"Apparently so," Erik sighed, noticing a bit of fear creep across the hobbit's face. It was gone in a moment, though, and was replaced with the slight smile.

"My name's Frodo," the hobbit introduced. "What are your names?"

"I am Erik," Erik replied. "This is my wife, Christine, my son Charles, my daughter Arabelle, and her friend, Jillianna Morgan."

Frodo's smile broadened slightly, and he turned.

"There are extra rooms in my home," he said softly. "You may all stay there, if you like. Perhaps Gandalf can help you."

"Who is Gandalf?" Arabelle asked, looking at Frodo.

"A wizard," the hobbit replied. "He's a friend of mine. He'll be here in a day or two."

"A wizard..." Arabelle echoed, amazement in her voice as she shared a look with Jillianna and her brother. "How exciting! Will you tell us about him?"

Arabelle's eyes were glittering with excitement, and she listened intently to Frodo's words.

"...My uncle won't mind your presence, I assure you," he was saying. "In fact, I imagine Uncle Bilbo will be pleased to have Big Folk in our hobbit hole.

"Big Folk?" Charles echoed in confusion.

Frodo nodded.

"Humans," he explained. "Usually, humans don't come here. It's been many years since any Big Folk besides Gandalf have come to the Shire. I hope you'll like it here."

"It _is _beautiful," Christine agreed, her eyes turning to the surrounding hills.

Erik had to admit, she was right. The surrounding country, with rolling green hills and a few scattered trees was like nothing he'd ever seen before. This Shire place was so lovely.

And there was hope! The little hobbit Frodo had said his wizard friend might be able to help them return home.

Erik wanted to go home. Though he agreed that this place looked like Paradise, there was something beneath the surface, some dark horror waiting to be revealed to them. He didn't like it. It set the hairs at the back of his neck on end, and his senses to high alert.

The instinct to protect his family and Arabelle's friend intensified by the minute.

XxX  
Chapter one! I hope you all like this. I know it's kind of a stretch, but, oh well. Review, please!


	2. Bag End

It's been a while, I know. Sorry guys.

Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter.

Bag End  
XxX

Frodo lived in a very nice little hobbit hole.

Arabelle, Christine, Charles, and Jillianna all loved it.

Erik, on the other hand, was begining to think his back would never bee the same. The ceilings could not have been more than five feet high, and that was about a foot and a half shorter than his height. Bending so much was beginning to hurt.

That first day, they got to know their hosts.

Frodo was a cheerful, bright-eyed hobbit, if a bit shy. He was friendly, and quick to smile, always willing to talk with the human guests.

Bilbo was just as warm, and much more open. He was even more inclined to believe their guests' guess that they were not in their own world, and asked them about their home.

It was, in all, a nice atmosphere, despite the fact that Erik was way too large for the little beds.

Arabelle and Jillianna had at once taken to the garden at the side of the house. It was a peaceful little place, with a great willow tree in the center. Arabelle loved the willow tree best.

She climbed it skillfully, despite her dress and Jillianna's worried protests.

"You'll fall, Arabelle," her blond friend warned. "Pleathe come down before you hurt yourthelf."

Arabelle swung up onto the next branch and grinned wildly down at the older girl.

"How could I be hurt?" she laughed. "I am a tree sprite!"

Closing her eyes, she let go of the branch, and swung upside down by her knees, laughing. Arabelle reached for the next branch down and sung around it to land on the ground easily.

"One of thethe dayth, you're going to be hurt," Jillianna warned.

Arabelle shooke her head.

"While it is nice to know you care, Jill," she smiled, "I am quite safe. Remeber, I know what I'm doing. Unlike Addison. Do you remember that?"

Jillianna laughed.

"I thought for thure he'd broken hith foolith neck," she agreed, looking to the ring on her finger. The delicate gold band with the intricate leaf design surrounding the deep sapphire stone was never off her finger.

Both girls remembered well the time Addison climbed one of the trees in the park.

They'd been flying kites, and to impress his sweetheart, when her kite became tangled in the branches, Addison had climbed the tree after it, only to stand too far out on a branch that was far too thin. The boy had been very lucky he hadn't broken anything.

That first day was quite peaceful, and Arabelle learned much. The next day was what truly had her eyes sparkling, and Erik saw the caring side of her take dominance.

Bilbo's gardener - and Frodo's best friend - came up to the house, with two other hobbits, one clearly younger than the others, if not by too terribly much.

They were introduced as Sam - he was the gardener, Frodo's friend - and Frodo's two cousins, Merry and Pippin, Pippin being the smaller of the two.

The young hobbit, though only six years from coming of age in hobbit years, was very bouncy and excited. He flittered around, quite amazed to see big folk this far into the Shire.

His excitement made Arabelle smile; Pippin reminded her at once of Charles.

_Humans, _Sam thought. _Here. It's a sign of strange things when they come to the Shire, an' that's for truth. Best be on your watch, Samwise. Things are happening out in the world._

But they were all friendly, even the strange one with the mask, and Sam found he couldn't feel wary around them, even if he tried to.

As they went into the kitchen for lunch, the ties of Erik's mask snagged on the chandelier in the front hall, and it pulled away from his face.

With a shout, he brought up his hands to cover the deformity, but as he peeked between his fingers, it was clear that they'd all seen. Six pairs of eyes were wide open, filled with shock, the other three looked at him in worry as he turned and disappeared.

For a moment, no one moved, then slowly everyone looked at each other.

Christine took the moment of silent, shocked staring to run after her husband.

This was _not _good.

"Don't think any differently of him," Arabelle whispered. "Papa's always looked like that, but he's kind."

"Tho _that'th _what I thaw," Jillianna murmured. She'd once caught a partial glimpse of Erik's face years ago, but had never seen the whole deformity.

"He was born that way?"

There was confusion, and concern, as well as pity, in Frodo's quiet voice.

Arabelle nodded.

"Yes," she replied. "And from what Mama told me, he's been hated all his life for it."

"But it isn't his fault he was born like that, right?"

Arabelle sighed.

"Exactly, Pippin," she nodded. "He only met Mama seventeen years ago. For fifty years, no one would have anything to do with him. Please don't be afraid of him. He's gentle, really, though he _does _have quite a temper."

"He wouldn't hurt anyone?" Merry asked.

Arabelle's eyes narrowed slightly, but she understood his concern; Pippin was young, and just by his nature prone to asking questions and prodding.

"No," she told him. "He hasn't touched anyone in anger since before I was born."

The girl purposely left out that long ago, he'd been a hired assassin in Persia. Her mother had told her Erik's entire story, because she was old enough, and Christine feared always that some shadow of his past might come back for him. She'd wanted her eldest child to be prepared.

"He used to be so different, Mama said," Arabelle whispered, more to herself than the others. "And yet, I cannot imagine him as violent."

Next to her, Charles fiddled with his hair, pulling more of it to cover the left side of his face.

Frodo guessed why almost at once.

"You look like him, don't you, young one?"

Charles nodded quietly.

Arabelle wrapped a protective arm around Charles's shoulders, and kissed his forehead.

"It's alright, little brother," she breathed, so quiet that only Charles heard. "They won't hate you."

Charles smiled slightly up at her, then turned back to his plate.

...

...

"Erik?"

He was huddled on his side of the bed, the mask on his face, arms wrapped around himself tightly.

He did not answer her.

Carefully, Christine came forward, and sat next to him, gently touching his shoulder.

"Erik?"

Slowly, terribly slowly, Erik turned to look at her.

His eyes were distant, and a dim little pain lingered in them.

She understood at once.

"They'll get over it," she assured him gently. "You must remember, my love, anyone is going to react the first time they see you. That doesn't mean they will always hate and fear you. Don't you remember the first time _I _saw you? I was surprised, to say the least, but that attack worried me much more."

"You were still scared," Erik whispered. "The whole two weeks, the only way you felt safe was if I were unable to get up."

Christine sighed.

It was true. But not in the way he thought.

"I felt safe, yes," she replied. "Because that meant I didn't have to see Raoul. Even then, I felt an attraction to you that made even looking at him difficult. I wanted to stay, you know. Both times you sent me away. I wanted to stay with you."

Erik smiled slowly. She'd mentioned wanting to stay the night he'd told her to leave with Raoul, and made her promise to bring him an invitation to her wedding, but never before had she revealed that the connection between them was so strong that even that first time, when he sent her back above ground, that she'd felt compelled to stay.

Very gently, he brought a hand up to cup her cheek, and leaned in to press a loving kiss against her lips.

"You always know what to say," he whispered, leaning his forehead against her's.

Christine smiled, and removed his mask. The tearstains on his sunken cheeks made her heart ache for him, and she held him close for a long while.

Finally, she drew back, and smiled at him again.

"Come, Erik," she said gently. "It will be alright."

Erik nodded, and Christine noted poignantly that he replaced his mask before following her out of the room.

_"He seems so kind. I can't imagine treating him any differently. Grant you, not everyone will be of the same position, but we'll help, won't we lads?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Anything for such fine Big Folk."_

_"Besides, Ma would pitch a fit if she knew I turned away from a body just because of his face. It ain't right."_

Erik froze.

Did the hobbits really not care about his face, then? Was it possible that he'd finally found others, besides his precious family, that wouldn't hate him on sight?

Christine's grip on his hand tightened in tender reassurance, and Erik smiled at her.

Arabelle was the first up when the two entered the kitchen, followed instantaneously by Charles. The teen girl wrapped her arms around her father's neck.

"Are you alright, Papa?" she asked softly, her eyes sparkling.

Erik nodded, a small smile forming on his face. At seeing it, Arabelle beamed and pulled him over to the table.

It was almost comically small compared with Erik's height.

The incident that day was not mentioned again, and things seemed to go right.

Until two nights later.

_He wasn't sure where they were. He'd never seen such a place in all his life. They stood within the circular ruins of a stone tower, surrounded by unkillable beings. There were six of them, and nine of these things. How could they ever hope to survive?_

_Turning every which way, Erik tried to help, but suddenly, he was alone, in another strange place. A hill, shrouded in mist as a great shadow with piercing eyes loomed before him. It reached for hin, and out of the shadow's mouth came Arabelle's frightened voice._

_Confused, he turned away, to see Christine and Charles standing on another hill in a bright patch of sunlight. They did not speak, but in his mind, he heard, 'forget the voice of the girl. Come. You need her not.'_

_Then the voice of the creature behind him rang in his head. _

_'Papa help me!' it wailed, in tones so like to Arabelle's when afraid that he could hardly doubt that it was her crying for him._

_He turned back, and his head began to spin. The next thing he knew, he was back in that first place, with the beings in black bearing down upon them. _

_He saw Arabelle forced to her knees in her inexperience with weapons by her opponent's sword. He saw the hobbits scattered, and trying to escape these evil things. _

_Erik didn't know what they were, didn't know why they were evil (just as he didn't know how or why he knew Christine, Jill, and Charles were hidden below them in a cave), or how they were unkillable._

_Then one had Christine and Charles. And the one Arabelle was up against was winning. The first, the one that held his wife and son, revealed two long knives. The second produced one as it held his daughter at bay._

_All at once, the knives were plunged into three innocent hearts, and Erik's world was forever destroyed._

Erik woke with a choked cry, soaked in a cold sweat, hair plastered to his face. His heart pounded and he shook violently.

Gasping, he bent his head for a moment, struggling to control his breathing and calm his racing heart. His next move was to look at Christine, frantically taking her wrist in his hand, just to be sure he wasn't imagining her soft breathing.

He was not completely satisfied.

His wife was merely asleep, yes, but some overpowering urge drove him to hurry to the room Arabelle and Charles were sharing.

He checked their pulses just as he'd done Christine's, and when he found the stray curl on Arabelle's face, and that Charles's blanket was not covering his shoulders, he brushed the strand away from her face, and pulled the covers up to the boy's neck.

Erik stood between the beds for some time, just watching his children, as his heart and breath calmed further. His mind, however, still raced.

That nightmare! Oh, he hoped it did not mean anything, but how was he to be sure? He could not afford to lose his family. That would kill him. And if it didn't immediately, it would be many years. Many long years of calling for them, forgetting, only to remember that they were not there anymore. He couldn't let that come to pass.

But the danger was not in the present. It seemed to him now, as he thought about it, that the dream was a warning; a warning of some future danger, that he would be separated from the ones he loved, and needed most. With a tired sigh, he gave up thinking about it, and turned back to his room to sleep.

XxX  
The third chapter will be up much sooner, I promise. Review, please!


	3. The Party

The Party  
XxX

Two days later, Frodo and Arabelle, who'd taken to the ways of the hobbits well, and truly enjoyed Frodo's quiet company, sat by a tree together, each reading a book, Frodo on the ground, Arabelle in the branches.

The quiet was broken by the distant sounds of a cart rolling down a road that could be no more than a quarter mile behind them through the woods, and a quiet humming.

Frodo perked up at once, and Arabelle picked up on it.

"What is it, Frodo?" she asked, looking down at the hobbit below her.

Frodo's eyes were bright, and he smiled.

"It's Gandalf."

...

...

Together, the hobbit and human reached the edge of the low cliff above the road in time to see an old man in worn grey robes, and a battered grey conical hat. The tip of said hat had sagged, flopping back behind his head, and he seemed oblivious to the pair standing there.

Arabelle glanced at the horse pulling the cart (which, oddly enough, was full of fireworks). It was a pretty little bay creature, with a white star.

"You're late," Frodo said beside her, addressing the old man.

The man - Gandalf, Frodo's wizard friend - pulled up on the reigns, and turned to the hobbit.

"A wizard," he stated flatly, "is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives _precisely _when he means to."

Arabelle watched the two stare each other down until the hobbit and wizard began laughing.

"It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" Frodo beamed, throwing himself at Gandalf and wrapping his arms around him.

Arabelle followed at a slower pace; she didn't know Gandalf, and jumped down from the cliff to the road, and climbed up beside Frodo and the wizard.

"Hullo, Frodo, who is this?" the wizard asked, smiling and looking at Arabelle from beneath the wide brim of his hat.

"My name is Arabelle, sir," Arabelle replied, offering a smile of her own. "Frodo said you might be able to help us find our way home?"

"Oh?"

Arabelle paused. Getting straight to the business of any conversation was not what she'd been taught, but she wanted to get home.

"My family and I live in Bristol, Connecticut," the teenager began. "We've never heard of the Shire, or Bree, or even Middle Earth."

Gandalf frowned.

"Tell me what happened."

Arabelle nodded.

"My father thought it would be nice for us all to have a picnic, my mother, brother, father, myself, and my friend, Jillianna. We were about to go home when there was an incredibly bright light. When it cleared, nothing looked different, but when we managed to get out of the woods, we were here, rather than home."

Gandalf listened to the brief tale intently, a frown on his bearded face.

"Forces beyond our control are at work, young Arabelle," he sighed. "I do not know how this has come to pass, but there _is _purpose to it, trust in that. You were _meant_ to be here."

The old wizard's words seemed final, and Arabelle left off questioning.

"Tell us about the wide world, Gandalf," Frodo suddenly pipped up. "Tell us everything!"

Smiling fondly, and ruffling Frodo's hair, Gandalf began to speak about lands and places Arabelle had never heard of, but was nevertheless enchanted by.

...

...

That evening was the party. Excited, Arabelle was practically bouncing about the place.

"Papa, come dance!" she begged, eyes shimmering, and smiling brightly.

Erik relented easily, smiling and chuckling himself as he let Arabelle pull him out into the area of the field where everyone was dancing.

They spun around and around, Arabelle laughing brightly. Erik had to smile. His daughter was always happy, but he'd never seen her quite this free. Her sparkling eyes and ringing laughter warmed his heart, because there had been a time when he had not believed he would ever _have _children.

Erik wandered back to where Christine was sitting when Arabelle left to run about with Jillianna, and sat beside his wife, only slightly out of breath.

Christine smiled.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked quietly, leaning against his thin shoulder. Erik sighed happily and wrapped an arm around Christine, closing his eyes.

"Immensely," he replied, turning his head to kiss her brown curls. "I love you, Christine," Erik whispered. "I promise we'll find a way home."

At that moment, a great explosion was heard, and a firework dragon roared up into the sky. Everyone at the party watched in awe as the great beast flew upward, and began to loop.

When it swooped low over the party guests, however, everyone panicked. Erik ducked, and dragged Christine down with him, covering her and closing his eyes tightly. When they looked up a minute later, it was to see the dragon roll in the distance and explode into multiple fireworks explosions of all different colors.

Erik had to laugh as he helped Christine to her feet. The display, though potentially dangerous, was spectacular, and it reminded him of why the gypsies had grown to fear him, believing that he himself had a dragon in his control.

"Dragons," he chuckled. "Do you remember, Christine, when I took you to the Bois, and mentioned _my _dragon?"

Christine smiled.

"Yes, Erik," she whispered, but then the smile began to slip away. "I remember that night."

It was the night Erik had been shot. He didn't know she'd been awake for that, but she hadn't been able to sleep, and so, had seen him stumble past her partly open door to his room in the old house beneath the opera, blood staining his shoulder, and cursing Raoul's name.

Erik, knowing not that she'd seen, had always assumed she did not like to remember that night for the mistaken music lesson. They had both been tired and on edge.

But he said nothing, the look in her eyes spoke of concern, and he wondered if maybe she'd worried about him when Raoul and his companions had come, and he'd gotten so angry. He'd certainly felt the warning pressure behind his breastbone that insisted he calm down at once.

...

...

Arabelle, meanwhile, had left Jillianna to wander around for a while. On the far side of the party grounds, she found Gandalf. On seeing him, she became curious about the cryptic reply he'd given earlier about why her family had been brought here.

"You said we were meant to be here. What did you mean?" she asked quietly.

Gandalf smiled gently.

"For many years now, things have been in motion in the world beyond. Something stirs in Middle Earth. I believe you and your family will play an important part."

Arabelle tilted her head to one side, and moved to stand beside the wizard.

"An important part in what?" she questioned, confusion lighting her eyes. Inside, however, a cold dread began to sink into her, and she started to see that something dangerous was simmering beneath the happy, peaceful surface.

Gandalf looked at her askance, his face set and grave.

"In the war to come," he replied.

Another thought came to Arabelle then.

"You told my papa earlier that you didn't know how to send us back," she whispered.

Gandalf shook his head.

"The magic that brought you here is older and more powerful than my own, Arabelle," he explained. "I cannot undo what is meant to be. It is my belief that you will be bound to this world until the end of this coming war, whatever the outcome may be."

Arabelle still didn't understand everything, but it was clear Gandalf could say no more on the matter. A moment later, the entire place erupted into clapping and cheers of 'speech, speech' as Bilbo stood up on a raised platform, and addressed the other hobbits.

He spoke of knowing them, and liking them, but Arabelle felt that there was something else, something... dark, beneath the current of joviality.

"I regret to announce, that this is the end," Bilbo called out unsteadily. "I will be going now. I bid you all, a very fond farewell. Goodbye."

And suddenly, everyone was yelling and talking at once, all of them confused, and shocked, and wondering how it could have happened; Bilbo had vanished right in front of the assembled hobbits, the wizard, and Arabelle and her family.

For her part, Arabelle felt that sense of dread that had wormed its way into her stomach minutes ago deepen exponentially into a premonition of horror. She couldn't see how Bilbo had just disappeared, and it did indeed confuse her, but the teenager felt that there was something more than just a parlour trick to the act.

Something very dark and dangerous was beginning.

But she didn't have time to think on it, as she realized she had no idea where her family had gotten to. Oh, they shouldn't be too hard to find in a crowd of people no taller on average than Charles, but turn where she would, Arabelle could see none of her family.

"Papa?" she called, searching through the panicked party. "Mama? Charles? Jill?"

Someone was suddenly in front of her, and she looked to see Frodo, looking rather frightened.

"Frodo?"

The hobbit blinked up at her, stumbling backward before realizing who it was.

"Arabelle, have you seen Bilbo?" he asked almost breathlessly.

Arabelle shook her head.

"Not since his speech, Frodo," she replied. "Perhaps he got up to Bag End without anyone noticing?"

Frodo nodded, and together, the two ran off toward the hobbit hole. Arabelle didn't worry about her family finding her. It was the first place they would look for her, once they ascertained she wasn't at the party any longer.

They burst into the hobbit hole to find it mostly dark, Gandalf sitting before the fire, smoking a pipe and muttering.

Frodo bent and picked up a simple gold ring that lay on the floor, and walked over to the wizard, Arabelle close behind him.

"Gandalf?" Frodo called quietly, looking at the wizard in confusion.

Gandalf seemed to draw slowly from his thoughts, and looked at the two, then to Frodo's hand.

"Bilbo's ring," the wizard muttered, standing and striding quickly toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Arabelle called, frowning and following Frodo after the wizzard.

"I have questions," Gandalf replied cryptically. "Questions that need answering."

"But you've only just arived!" Frodo countered. "I don't understand!"

Gandalf turned and faced the pair, a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Neither do I," he whispered. And then he was gone in the night, leaving the human and hobbit staring into the dark in confusion.

XxX  
So, I just realized I'd posted this chapter without finishing it. Oops. But college has just started, and I have rehearsals for a renfaire for a while, so don't expect too many updates in the near future. After two months, though, chapters on this and other stories should pick up again.

Review, please!


	4. Set into Motion

Set into Motion  
XxX

Erik, Christine, Charles, and Jillianna returned not long after.

"Good, you're safe," Erik whispered, touching Arabelle's shoulder gently. "What's happened?"

Arabelle and Frodo both shook their heads.

"The wizzard Gandalf was here, but he just left," she replied.

"He said to keep this a secret."

In the palm of Frodo's hand lay a plain gold ring, made for a man's finger. It shimmered strangely in the dim firelight, and in his mind, Erik thought he heard a faint, almost guttural hiss. He shook his head and listened again, but there was nothing.

"Erik?"

Christine was looking askance at him, and Erik smiled slightly to let her know that he was alright.

"Then we will keep it thecret," Jillianna spoke up, stepping forward. "Thurely Gandalf knowth what he'th thaying."

Arabelle grinned.

"Jill's right, Frodo," she agreed. "We'll help you keep it hidden. Whatever it might be."

Charles looked up at his sister in confusion.

"Huh?"

Arabelle looked down at him gravely.

"It's more than a ring, little brother," she explained. "Gandalf didn't like it."

Silence fell for some time, and then the six went to bed. The next morning found them sitting at breakfast, discussing more of the events of the previous night.

"Gandalf also said something about Bilbo going to stay 'with the elves,'" Arabelle was saying. "What do these elves look like?"

Frodo smiled.

"They are tall, graceful beings," he replied. "Immortal. Sam is quite taken with the idea of them."

"They sound enchanting," Christine remarked.

...

...

The days wore on much as the first few before the party. They saw more of the other three hobbits, Samwise, Merry, and Pippin. Arabelle gained quite an attachment to all four of them, tagging along wherever she was invited. Certainly, it seemed strange to the other Shire inhabitants to see Big Folk, and Arabelle often felt their wary looks, but she was with friends. Nothing mattered with friends.

One night, she convinced Erik and Christine to let her go with Frodo and Sam to meet Merry and Pippin at the Green Dragon. An odd idea, Arabelle knew, but she wanted to see what the place was like, and she _had _been invited.

"Be careful, dearest," Erik reminded her as she followed Frodo out the door to where Sam was waiting at the fence. After all, what danger was there in letting the girl be around folk half her size? Hobbits would be no threat to his daughter.

...

...

Listening to the raucous singing made Arabelle laugh. She took a sip of her soda, made from roots and juice from leaves, and smiled over the rim of her cup at her friends.

She followed Frodo to a table where several hobbits - friends of his, she supposed - sat already. Arabelle recognized only two; Sam and his father.

"Keep your nose outta trouble, an' no trouble'll come to you," one of the other hobbits was saying. Arabelle nodded.

"That's a philosophy for you," she agreed. "Always worked for my family."

Frodo and Sam introduced her, and the night passed amiably. She noticed Samwise glance toward the barmaid - Rosie, wasn't it? - and grinned.

When at last they all left, Arabelle had to duck a bit to get out the main door. She followed Frodo and Sam closely, laughing at the antics of one drunken hobbit behind them until she heard Sam grumble.

_Ah, it makes sense, _she thought to herself. _He likes Rose the bar girl, and the drunk's actions are making him jealous. Oh, Samwise, open your eyes._

They said goodnight at the gate to Bag End, And Arabelle watched for a second as Sam wandered along, then turned to follow Frodo into the house.

The lights were off, save for one candle, and a window was open. Something about the shadows that night struck Arabelle as never before. On other occasions when she had been awake late at night, the dark patches in the hobbit hole had always seemed warm and protecting. Now there was something cold and urgent about them, and she subconsciously moved closer to Frodo, so that he was closer to the door to run.

Arabelle knew that her parents should have been here, but the home was large, the bedrooms at the far back; the earth walls muffled sound, and so it was unlikely that they had heard anything, or that any cry would reach them.

As the two were about to walk further into the house, someone grabbed them each by a shoulder. Arabelle squeaked as she turned, only to see Gandalf's urgent face.

"Is it secret?" the wizard demanded. "Is it safe?"

Frodo nodded, and Gandalf turned to Arabelle.

"Wake your people. You must all be present."

In moments, everyone was standing in the sitting room as Gandalf took the envelope which contained the ring from Frodo, and tossed it into the fire.

As the paper burned away, the golden band was revealed, untouched by the flames.

Gandalf took a pair of tongs from beside the hearth, and lifted the ring from the fire.

Something about it seemed very _off _to Arabelle. She knew gold was a soft metal, her father had taught her about it. Even if it hadn't melted, it ought to have been a good deal softer than it looked now.

"Hold out your hand, Frodo," Gandalf instructed. "It's quite cool."

No one moved as Frodo extended his hand to take the ring from the wizard. It clunked heavily into the hobbit's hand.

"Can you see anything?" Gandalf asked.

Everyone crowded around, Arabelle looking over from Frodo's left.

"There's nothing there," Charles muttered. Then -

"No, wait," Frodo countered. "There are markings. It's some form of elvish. I can't read it."

"There are few who can," Gandalf replied. "The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

"Mordor?" Frodo whispered, sounding distantly frightened, glancing back momentarily at the ring in his hands.

Erik shook slightly at the sight of the script. It was flowing, and elegant, but in no way beautiful. There was something cold and deadly about it, and an unaccountable fear suddenly seized him, and he had to really fight all his instincts to keep from leaving the room at once to get away from the thing.

"In the common tongue," Gandalf was saying, "it says; 'One Ring to find them, One Ring to bind them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them."

A cold breeze seemed to shudder through the room then, and Arabelle felt something so dark and evil that she wanted badly to run. Instead, she gripped Erik's hand, and when her father looked down at her, she could see that he had felt that same wicked presence, too.

_Something wicked this way comes, _she thought to herself, with a bit of nervous irony.

...

...

"This _is _the One Ring," Gandalf sighed. "Forged in Mount Doom, taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself."

Arabelle shivered slightly where she sat at the table, with Jill, Gandalf, Frodo, and her father, Christine having hurried young Charles back to bed. Whatever it was that had frightened her papa as much as it had her, it was not going to be easy to defeat. It was coming, and fast, and they were caught in the middle. The thought terrified her.

"Bilbo found it," Frodo murmured. "In Gollum's cave."

"Yes," Gandalf replied. "For sixty years, the Ring lay quiet in Bilbo's keeping; prolonging his life, delaying old age. But no longer. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call."

"But he was destroyed," Frodo argued, sounding frightened and desperate. "Sauron was destroyed."

A hissing sound seemed to ring in the room, and Arabelle turned toward the gold band. The eyes of Erik, Frodo, Jill, and Gandalf were on the Ring as well.

But Arabelle was overcome at once with the sense that she _must _look away, and never look at it again if she could help it. The blasted thing was terribly frightening, and it seemed, almost, _alive. _It unsettled her. And as she looked away, she caught her father's eyes again, there was the same terror she felt buried in his own sun-colored irises.

"_No, _Frodo," Gandalf explained. "The spirit of Sauron endured. His life-force is bound to the Ring, and the Ring survives. He is seeking it, seeking it; all his thought is bent on it. The Ring, my friends, yearns above all else to return to the hand of its master. They are one, the Ring, and the Dark Lord. He must _never _find it."

"Alright, then," Frodo said decisively, standing. "We put it away, keep it hidden. We'll never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?"

There was a silence that sent a razor-edged dagger of dread deep into Erik's gut.

"_Do _they?" he demanded, fear tightening his throat; he suddenly sensed that his family and young Jillianna were about to be in very real danger, and for quite some time. Every parent's worst nightmare.

"Gandalf?"

The hobbit's eyes locked momentarily with the wizard's, and Gandalf sighed.

"I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum," he admitted, "but the enemy found him first."

Erik's chest tightened. He saw where this was going, and it terrified him.

_No... no... Please, if any god can hear me here, let no harm come to _them. _Not my family..._

The thoughts raced in his head, because now the danger he'd only imagined and felt became all to real.

"I don't know how long they tortured him," Gandalf continued. "But amids the inane babble, they discerned two words; '_Shire', 'Bagins'."_

"_'Shire?' 'Baggins?" _Frodo cried, "But that will lead them _here!"_

A look of absolute panic entered the hobbit's eyes, and he stepped, trembling like a leaf, toward Gandalf.

_"Take it, Gandalf, Take it!" _Frodo begged, his eyes wide.

"No, Frodo," Gandalf refused, a note of intense panic in his voice. Arabelle realized with a thrill of terror that he was frightened, too.

"You _must _take it!"

The wizzard shook his head.

"You cannot offer me this ring!"

"I'm _giving _it to you!" Frodo wailed.

_"Don't tempt me, Frodo!" _Gandalf roared. He closed his eyes for just a moment, and seemed to shrink. "I dare not take this ring," he explained in a quiet voice. "Not even to keep it safe. Understand, Frodo, I would use this ring from a desire to do good. But through me, it would weild a power too great and terrible to imagine."

"But it _cannot _stay in the Shire!" Frodo replied, his voice still frantic.

"No," Gandalf agreed. "No it can't."

Frodo looked at the wizzard for a moment, then turned to Arabelle and the others.

"Then you -"

"No," Gandalf said again. "That would solve nothing."

Erik saw a look in the wizzard's eyes when he spoke, and knew that if the Ring came to his world, it would bring with it all the evil that existed here. He would never let that happen.

Frodo looked on the verge of asking the others anyway, but then his face set, and he turned back round to face Gandalf.

"What must I do?"

Gandalf smiled for a brief second, then his face set grimly.

"You must leave, and leave quickly," he replied.

"But where?" asked Frodo, sounding confused and somewhat frightened again. "Where do I go?"

"Get out of the Shire," Gandalf said urgently, "make for the village of Bree.

"Bree," Frodo muttered. "What about you?

"I'll be waiting for you at the inn 'The Prancing Pony'."

"And the Ring will be safe, there?"

Gandalf sighed.

"I don't know. I don't have any answers. I must see the head of my order. He is both wise, and powerful. Trust me, all of you. He'll know what to do. For now, Erik, you and your family will go with a friend of mine who will see you safely to Rivendell. I'll take you to him."

Arabelle shook her head.

"No. I'm going with Frodo," she said, turning to the hobbit. "You'll need someone with you."

Erik frowned.

"I won't allow it," he replied, a note of fierce protection entering his voice. "I won't let you put yourself in danger."

Arabelle looked up at her father with steely determination.

"I want to help," she stated firmly. "Two heads and two sets of eyes are better than one. And Gandalf will be meet us, Papa. Please."

Erik wanted to say no, really he did. But he could see that Arabelle was not about to back down. It would only lead to lengthy, pointless arguing.

"Alright," he sighed, mentally kicking himself for allowing it.

"And I'll come with you," Jillianna spoke up.

"No," Erik said flatly. "I have more a responsibility to keep _you _out of danger, for your parents' sakes."

"Now Frodo, Arabelle," Gandalf instructed. "You'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire. Travel only by day, and stay off the road."

"We can cut across country enough," Frodo assured the wizzard, as Arabelle nodded.

"My dear Frodo," Gandalf sighed. "Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet, after a hundred years, they can still surprise you."

For a moment, the room was infused with the warmth it had held when Erik and the others had first come to Bag End, a good two months ago. But then it faded, as something by the window rustled, and Gandalf's face took on a look of urgency and fear.

"Get down, all of you," he hissed, raising his staff.

Arabelle pulled Jill with her into a crouch behind a corner, as Erik knelt protectively before them. Frodo pressed his own body against the carpet, and all eyes were wide and riveted on Gandalf.

The wizard slowly approached the window, staff held in a position to strike. The flowers by the windowsill rustled as though something were concealed in them, and Gandalf struck. A thud, and then a loud, familiar _oof! _was heard. Gandalf reached out a hand, and yanked a small figure in through the window, pinning him on his back against a desk.

"_Confound it all, _Samwise Gamgee, have you been evesdropping?" the wizard demanded.

Poor Samwise was shaking like a leaf as he made his reply.

"I-I haven't been droppin' no eves, sir, honest! I was just c-cutting the grass, under the window there, if you follow me."

"A little late for triming the verge, don't you think?" Gandalf snapped.

"I-I heard raised voices..." Sam defended, his hazel eyes wide.

"What did you hear?" Gandalf cried. "_SPEAK!"_

"Oh, n-n-nothin' important," Samwise stammered. "That is, I heard a good deal about a ring, a dark lord, and somethin' about the end of the world, but... please, Mr. Gandalf, sir. Don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anything, well, unnatural?"

An impish light entered Gandalf's eyes in that moment.

"No?" he considered. "Perhaps not. I've thought of a better use for you."

Terror was written all over poor Sam's face, but then Gandalf straightened up, and let him go.

"All of you, get packed," the wizard instructed. "Erik, alert your wife and son. We leave tomorrow. At dawn."

XxX  
Oh my goodness, this one took a while. For the longest time, I couldn't think of anything, then I just pooped out most of it late last night.

Oi..

But it came out the way I was hopping for, I think. Review, please!


	5. The Roads Taken

The Roads Taken  
XxX

Arabelle groaned when she felt the hand shake her shoulder, and tried to roll away. The familiar voice of her father, on the other hand, brought her at once to wakefulness.

"Come, dearheart," Erik whispered. "We are going now."

The words brought her to full alertness as memories of last night sprung up in her mind. Today she left her parents' sides for the first time for more than one evening. She didn't know how long it would be before she saw them again, but she knew somehow that she would. All would be well, in time. She could feel it.

As Erik left the room, Arabelle threw back the covers, and stood. She pulled on a dress she had bought early on in their time here, and picked up the bag she'd packed late last night.

In the kitchen, she found everyone - Sam, Frodo, Gandalf, her parents, Jillianna, and Charles - eating a quick breakfast. She sat down next to Erik, and began to eat herself.

Fifteen minutes later, they were all walking out the door.

No one spoke. Instead, they made their way, following Gandalf and his horse, down the lane to the road out of town, silent, lost in their own thoughts. The wizard had managed to procure two more horses for Erik and the others travelling with him, one held by Erik, the other by Jillianna.

Arabelle was keenly aware that her decision to follow Frodo and Sam worried her father terribly. But she also knew that she had to do what she felt was right. She _had _to go with Frodo and Sam. They would need someone larger to help them, watch out for them. And she would do it.

Erik wanted so bad, even now, to say no, to insist that Arabelle come with him and the others. She was too young still, to be without his protection for an indefinite period. He couldn't help her if she was with Frodo and Sam. He wished he could go with her, but he would need to protect the others. They needed him most. He only hoped that what he'd gotten for her early that morning would be enough.

Christine knew only the basic facts of what had happened the previous evening, and that Arabelle was going to follow Frodo and Sam 'into the eye of the storm,' as Erik had told her. She was concerned for Arabelle, yes, but nowhere near as much as Erik was. Perhaps because she was a bit more set apart from her daughter than her husband, she could see that Arabelle was strong, stronger than Erik realized. She was made for something like this, Christine saw it easily. She saw it in the determined set of Arabelle's shoulders, and wary, protective shining in her eyes. This was something she was meant to do.

Jillianna was, truth to tell, terrified. Terrified and, in some dark little corner of her mind, furious. She understood Erik Destler's reasoning, but she didn't want to leave Arabelle alone. Yes, the younger of the two girls was always more the defender than the other, but Jillianna felt that she ought to return the favor in some way. She wanted to _do _something, to help in some way.

Charles, for his part, knew that something bad had happened, but what, he couldn't think. He knew also that his sister was going to leave them and go with the two hobbits. He was sure it had something to do with the Ring, but to what extent, he couldn't think. Would 'belle be safe? Would _they?_

"Come along, Samwise, keep up," Gandalf called over his shoulder to where Sam had lagged slightly behind, having brought with him enough pots and pans to stock a kitchen, in Arabelle's opinion.

It was not for some time, until they were well out of Hobbiton, and far from any other town, in a wood, that Gandalf halted them, turning first to the hobbits and Arabelle.

"Be careful, the three of you," he warned. "The Enemy has many spies in his service; birds, beasts." To Frodo, he added, "Is it safe?"

The hobbit nodded.

"Never put it on," Gandalf continued. "For the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to Its power. Always remember, Frodo; the Ring is trying to get back to Its master. It _wants _to be found."

In the moment of nervous silence that followed, Erik took his chance.

"Arabelle," he whispered, touching her shoulder, and leading her a little way off. "I know you will go with them," he sighed. "I wish you would come with us, but... Be safe, dearest." He wrapped his arms tight around her, pressing her dark head against his chest, and burying his face in her hair. "Take care, Arabelle. Please."

Arabelle heard the emotion in her father's voice, and her own grip on his shoulders tightened.

"I will, Papa," she promised. "I'll see you soon."

Erik drew back until he held Arabelle at arm's length, and looked into her eyes, so like his own. He wanted to remember her every feature; every single precious detail, for when she was no longer there. And at least, if - God forbid - he never saw her again, he would remember her face, which was so dear to his heart.

"You go into danger, _mon ange," _he murmured, touching her cheek lovingly. "You'll need this." Erik pulled from behind his back a short sword, sheathed in a black leather scabbard. He pressed it into her hands, and in amazement and fear, she drew the sword.

"Oh, Papa," Arabelle breathed, terrified understanding in her eyes. She knew then, in the gleam of the blade, that it would see use in her hands. She felt it so keenly.

Erik embraced her again, and then Christine, Charles, and Jillianna were there, too, all holding tight to one another.

"I'll miss you all," Arabelle whispered. "But when it's over, I'll come straight to Rivendell. I swear it."

"Be safe, Arabelle," Jillianna sighed.

"I will, Jill," Arabelle smiled. "We'll see each other again."

"You'll make it, dear," Christine said confidently. "Be watchful, and you'll be fine."

"Of course, Mama," Arabelle replied. "And Charles, take care of Mama and Papa and Jill, won't you?"

The boy nodded, looking proud that his elder sister had asked _him _to take care of their family.

"I will, 'belle," he promised. "I'll see you in Rivendell."

Arabelle nodded.

"Yes. I'll see you in Rivendell, little brother."

"Come," Gandalf called, already mounted on his horse. "We must go."

Erik helped Chirstine up onto the dark brown horse Gandalf had provided him with, and swung up behind her, as Jillianna did the same with Charles.

The moment they were all on, Gandalf spurred his horse, and within seconds, all of them were gone, lost in the distance.

Arabelle stood, even after her family could no longer be seen, watching where they had vanished from sight. It only began to truly sink in then, that she might not see them again for a long time. The realization was _not _a welcome one, and for a long moment, she fought tears.

"Arabelle?"

She turned to find Frodo and Sam looking at her in understanding concern.

"You'll see them again," Sam reminded her. The attempt at cheering her up seemed to work, as a small smile crossed her face.

"Yes," she sighed, only slightly shaky. "I know I will."

Looking one last time at the spot where she'd last seen her family, Arabelle took a deep breath, then turned and walked away with Frodo and Sam; away into the unknown, and danger.

"How long is it to Bree?" she asked at one point.

"About three day's travel," Frodo replied.

Arabelle smiled.

_And Rivendelle cannot be very far beyond that, _she thought with a smile. _I'll see Papa and the others sooner than I thought._

_..._

_..._

In a cornfield, Arabelle finally understood just how much her friends felt the same as she; as they were walking, Sam suddenly stopped, and glanced over his shoulder, for a moment looking incredibly uncertain and sad.

"This is it," he whispered.

"This is what?" Frodo asked, tilting his head to the side.

"If I take one more step," Samwise explained, "it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been."

A look of understanding crossed Frodo's face, and he smiled.

"Come on, Sam," he said, coming back to Sam's side.

"We shall all take the step together," Arabelle added, smiling as well. Sam took each of their hands, and together, they started walking again.

"Remember what Bilbo used to say?" said Frodo, looking at Sam and Arabelle. "'It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing _where _you might be swept off to.'"

* * *

"She'll be alright, Erik."

Erik sighed.

"I know," he whispered. "I know."

Christine shook her head.

"I don't think you do, my love," she countered. "You look at her, and see the small child who needed you - who still _wants _you, yes, but does not _need _that same protection. Oh, Erik, please stop worrying so. You know it isn't good for you."

Again, Erik sighed.

"She doesn't know the first thing of how to use that sword," he worried. "I ought to have gone with her."

"You know that won't help matters," Christine sighed, squeezing his hand comfortingly, and leaning back against his chest. "I am worried for her too, Erik. But you never saw what she would do whenever you were seriously ill. She never once, even as a child, lost all control. She has always been able to act beyond her emotions. Have faith in her, my love. She is _your _child."

"And what does that mean?" Erik scoffed. "A defective bloodline full of madness and hatred."

Christine smacked at his hand.

"No!" she argued sharply. "Erik, that means _none _of the things you said. It means Arabelle is strong, enduring. She will do what must be done when the time comes. She gets her strength from you, Erik. Not from me."

Erik sighed, and kissed her head.

"I know how strong she is, Christine," he said. "What I do not know, my dear, and what frightens me half to death, is that the enemy may be stronger."

Barely a minute later, the three horses with their riders were stopped, surrounded by men, hooded and cloaked in dark colors. One stepped forward, and Gandalf swung down out of his saddle and spoke to him in a low voice.

The man Gandalf spoke to stepped up, and took the reigns of both horses.

"You may dismount," he said. "This is our camp, and here you shall spend the night."

The words made Erik wary, but the tone was friendly enough, and on the man's shadowed face was a slight and welcoming smile.

"I am Strider, the leader of these Rangers," the man introduced himself as Erik slid down, and helped Christine.

"Erik Destler," Erik replied. "My wife, Christine, Charles, my son, and Jillianna, my daughter's best friend."

Strider nodded, and motioned them to follow. Five minutes later, they were standing in a clearing, full of tents and clearly detachable huts.

"You shall not see me in the morning," said the Ranger. "I must leave early, to Bree, on business for Gandalf."

Erik's head snapped up and forward, and his eyes widened.

"Bree?" he gasped. "Please, my daughter is heading there now, with the hobbits Frodo and Samwise. Let me go with you."

A slight smile played on Strider's face.

"So, that is the girl Gandalf mentioned. Your daughter."

"Yes," Erik breathed. "Please."

"Do not unpack your things, Erik," Strider instructed. "And rest well tonight. We leave at dawn."

Erik smiled beneath the mask.

…

…

There was feasting that night, in honor of some fight that had driven back creatures called goblins from the inhabited lands. A great fire roared and crackled, and Erik smiled in its warmth.

Christine was pleased to see the change in her husband. Even if it meant their parting for a time, she would see him again, she knew, and it warmed her heart to see Erik in such high spirits.

* * *

"Everywhere I lie, there's a dirty, great root sticking into my back," Sam groaned.

"Just shut your eyes," Frodo murmured, sounding half asleep already, "and imagine you're back in your own bed, with a soft matress and a lovely feather pillow."

Arabelle smiled at Frodo's words where she lay.

"It's not working, Mr. Frodo," Sam huffed, shifting again. "I'm never going to be able to sleep out here."

"Me neither, Sam," Frodo sighed.

"Sam," Arabelle whispered, turning over. "Think of home. Close your eyes, and picture every inch of it. The simple beauty, the trees..."

"Tell us about your home, Arabelle," Frodo suggested quietly, sounding almost asleep.

Arabelle smiled.

"The house is covered with beautiful dark diamond-shaped shingles," she breathed, her eyes closed. "There's a turret, my room. It is on the outskirts of a small town, Bristol. Surrounded by trees, it is the most peaceful, quiet place.

"The whole house is fenced in with stone, and a small iron gate. The interior is filled with dark wood, and the walls are painted deep, rich colors. I believe the bathrooms have the brightest color of any room in the house.

"There is a fireplace in the living room. The furniture is all a deep, rich read, on a Persian carpet so intricate, I've never been able to look at it all, even after eighteen years. Papa keeps his violin there, to play when the mood strikes him. It is a beautiful instrument, with tiger maple wood.

"The windows in that room, and those in Mama and Papa's room, are curtained with beautiful, thick velvet. Many were the times when Papa's cat Ayesha had to climb them to escape my dog, Phantom."

A soft, quiet laugh bubbled out of Arabelle, momentarily stopping her words.

"The shadows in and around that house are black as pitch, yes," she went on, "but they are warm and inviting, filled with love and care. No one who enters that house would feel any sort of fear, my friends.

"Charles and I always 'ike in zeh woods..."

As she fell closer to sleep, her voice changed slightly, and the French accent she had always heard in her parents' voices came out in her own.

"Zeh trees are always friendly," she mumbled. "And when a breeze blows, it iz as dtough zeh trees are speaking... a piece of 'eaven in my 'eart..."

Frodo smiled. It was only too clear that Arabelle was now sound asleep, and that Sam was not far behind. He looked up at the sky, a few stars peeking between the leaves of the trees above them.

"Think of home," he sighed, closing his own eyes and drifting away.

XxX  
And that's that. Arabelle and company have officially parted ways.


	6. Of Corn Fields and Hills

Of Corn Fields and Hills  
XxX

"Oh, no, Sam," Arabelle replied. "I was thinking. If Bree is just two days away now, Rivendell must surely not be far beyond that."

Frodo 'hmm'ed.

"I don't know how many days it would take, Arabelle," he warned, "but it is farther than you may think. Bilbo went away with dwarves once, many years ago. He said it had been a month when they were captured by goblins in the Misty Mountains, not very far from Rivendell. That was how he got th- ... _It."_

That was what the three friends referred to the Ring as; It. None felt safe saying 'the Ring' aloud. Gandalf's warnings had made them all wary, and slightly superstitious.

But Arabelle wasn't thinking about that. Now, her mind was fixed on the fact that it might be a few weeks, rather than a few days, before she saw her family again. Only one day away, and already she missed them terribly. At every little thing, she would catch herself turning to call the others' attentions to it, remembering at the last second that they weren't there.

And now, according to Frodo, it would be even longer before she would see them again.

She said nothing, though. She had no reason to complain when she would see her family again soon enough. She would just have to be patient. After all, how long could a month be made to seem? Surely, if she didn't think about the distance, the time would fly, and she would see them all before she realized it.

...

...

It was only _after _Sam began to call for him that Arabelle realized they had lost track of Frodo. Though she was taller than the height of the hobbit corn, she could not see him, and a distant note of panic, born of years worth of associating a missing person with heaps of trouble to come, rose inside her stomach.

_Please, no, _she thought, as in her mind rose a picture of some unknown enemy, robbed all in black, leering over her friend.

"Mr. Frodo!"

"Frodo!"

Sam was hurrying forward, his head casting side to side. Arabelle was about to follow him, when she saw a dark patch moving through the corn ahead. She was about to call out to Sam, when Frodo appeared.

"There you are," Sam sighed. "I thought we'd lost you."

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, looking slightly confused.

"Nothin'," Sam replied, and Arabelle noted the slightest flush of embarrassment that came with the realization of having overreacted. "Just somethin' Gandalf said. 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to."

Frodo smiled.

"Sam, we're still in the Shire," he almost laughed. "What could possibly happen?"

And suddenly, something knocked into them, and Frodo and Sam were knocked completely off their feet.

_Apparently this, _Arabelle thought as she stumbled to keep her balance.

"Frodo!" she heard Pippin cry in excitement. "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"

"Hello, Frodo," Merry smiled, before Sam dragged him off of Frodo.

Each hobbit had an armful of vegetables, Arabelle noticed, and her eyes narrowed.

"What's the meaning of this?" Frodo asked, beating her to the punch.

"You've been into Farmer Maggot's crops!" Sam accused, glaring.

There was a shout in the distance, and above the corn, all five friends could see the blade of a scythe, waving menacingly, and moving quickly toward them. Accompanying this was angry barking.

"What did you _do?" _Arabelle demanded.

"No time!" Pippin squeaked, taking off through the corn, Merry and Frodo close behind him. Arabelle shoved a distracted Samwise after the others, the load of vegetables Merry had pressed on him falling on the ground.

"I don't know _why _he's so upset," Merry mused out loud. "It's only a couple of carrots."

"And some cabbages," Pippin added. "And then those three bags of potatoes that we lifted last week. And the mushrooms the week before!"

Arabelle rolled her eyes. Stealing was stealing, and it was wrong.

"_Yes, _Pippin!" Merry interrupted. "My point is, he's clearly overreacting. Run!"

As Merry, still in the lead, broke through the edge of the cornfield, Arabelle looked back. No longer could she hear the angry shouting and barking, nor see the scythe being brandished above the corn stalks. They were safe.

The next the she noticed, though, was that there was suddenly no ground beneath her, and she fell, tumbling head over heels down a steep bank. She was jolted to a halt near the bottom when her back slammed against a tree. The stinging there, and on her arms and legs told her there were scrapes that she could not see; indeed, her hands were raw, almost bleeding. Standing stiffly, she moved down the last few feet of hill to where the hobbits were gathered, Merry, Pippin, and Sam around a pile of wild mushrooms, Frodo a little farther down the road.

"Here's a nice one, Sam," she heard Merry say as she passed them.

"Frodo?"

He didn't respond when Arabelle spoke, and she could see the intense concentration - almost fear - on his face as he glanced down the road.

"I think we should get off the road," he murmured, though no one else seemed to hear him.

Arabelle frowned. She remembered very well Gandalf's warning, but they would only be here a moment. Still, Arabelle understood the worry in Frodo's eyes, and she took a step back toward the others, to tell them they needed to go on.

Barely had she taken that step when an icy wind whipped down the road, stirring the leaves and chilling Arabelle's blood. The vague fear in Frodo's eyes blossomed into terror, and he swung around to look at the others.

"Get off the road!" he cried. "_Quick!"_

Sam was up first, running to Frodo and following him to a drop off on the far side of the road. Arabelle pushed Merry and Pippin ahead of her, hurrying them over and pushing them all down beneath the tree root that formed the far edge of the road. She removed her brown cloak, and spread it over them all as best she could, scattering some leaves over it so that at least it would look a little like earth.

"Shh," she breathed, closing her eyes tightly.

Presently, the sound of horse's hooves were heard on the road above, and every muscle in Arabelle's body tensed. Slowly, she slid her left hand across to the hilt of her sword, and held her breath.

Beside her, she felt Frodo shift, and heard his quiet gasp. Whatever was above them was not friendly.

Suddenly, metal-gloved hands gripped the tree root, and a horrible sniffing sounded above them, as though whatever was there was trying to _scent _the five friends.

_Please, God help us, _Arabelle thought, trying to keep her breathing silent.

The sound of something being thrown called the creature's attention, and it turned away. Arabelle realized that Merry must have thrown the bag of mushrooms he'd gathered.

But there was no time to think, as they all ran in the opposite direction, Frodo and Sam in the lead.

By the time they stopped, they were well away, and the hill they were on caused Merry and Pippin slip in the dead leaves.

It was then that Arabelle realized just how much her hands and legs - in particular her right leg - hurt, and she stumbled slightly.

"Arabelle?"

Sam spoke, but all four hobbits were looking at her in concern.

"I'm alright," she assured. "When we fell down that hill, I scraped myself a bit. It's nothing."

* * *

They set out early from the camp. Christine awoke to find Erik already dressed and closing his pack. He came back to where she slept, and bent to kiss her lips.

"I'll bring her straight to Rivendell," he whispered, careful not to wake Charles and Jillianna. "Then we'll go home."

Christine wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her face into his bony shoulder.

"Be careful, Erik," she murmured, nuzzling her head against his neck.

Erik smiled softly, and stroked her curls.

"I will," he promised. "I will."

He let go, and Christine sagged sleepily against the pillow. Erik looked at her another moment, before picking up his bag, and walking out of the little hut.

Strider was waiting for him in the center of the camp, and as Erik approached he nodded, and began to walk.

"It is a day's journey to Bree, Erik," the Ranger explained. "We must go quickly if we are to make it there ahead of the hobbits and your daughter."

Erik nodded.

"Then let's go."

The Ranger smiled, and began walking, Erik close behind.

...

...

They stopped only once, at mid-day, and Erik sighed, his mind on his sweet girl, wondering where she was, and only praying she was safe.

"Will you speak of her?"

Strider's sudden words sounded loud in the quiet of the woods, and Erik jumped slightly.

"My daughter?" he asked. The Ranger nodded. "She's wonderful. Sixteen years old, and a treasure. Her name is Arabelle, Strider. It means 'Answered prayer'."

"In a language of your world," said Strider.

Erik nodded.

"Yes," he replied. "French. The language I was born to. She was born, when I believed she never would be. Her hair curls like her mother's, Strider, but is black as night."

Here, Erik closed his eyes, picturing the sweet little face of his daughter from years long passed, when she was small.

"Her eyes are the color of the sun," he went on, "like mine, but more lovely. She's a good girl. Kind-hearted and intelligent, but a force to be reckoned with if need be."

"A fighter, then," Strider summed up, smiling slightly.

"Very much so," Erik laughed. "Quick to defend those she cares about. I would not put it past her to take on a wild beast for a friend."

"And for family?"

Erik looked away to the southeast, and a distant smile crossed his lips beneath the mask.

"She has moved heaven and Earth," he whispered. "And raised a fallen demon."

The faraway tone in his voice told Strider that Erik would speak no more - could speak no more, as his mind had left the present, and was firmly in the past - and so he let the conversation drop. The two men ate the food they'd brought, and set out again soon after.

"You will see her soon," Strider said quietly as they began down the hill. He pointed to a cluster of houses in the distance, barely discernible they were so far away. "That is Bree. We will be there early in the morning if we walk through the night. The hobbits and your daughter cannot be far behind."

Erik smiled. It would not be long now. Sometime the day after tomorrow, he would see Arabelle again. She would make it to Bree with the hobbits, and then he would bring her on to Rivendell, where they would meet up with Christine, Jillianna, and Charles, and they could go home. So soon, it would all be right again. So very soon.

* * *

"Strider gave us orders to take you to Rivendell as soon as we could, my lady," the Ranger explained to Christine, who nodded. "We have horses for you, and the children. Tomorrow, I, Thorgin, Melnor, and Aidan will set out with you on the road to Rivendell. Worry not, for we shall see you safely to the end of your journey."

"Thank you," Christine said quietly. "You have all been very good to us. You did not have to take us in yesterday."

"Nevertheless, it is our duty to help others," pipped up a younger Ranger, who was identified as Aidan. "What other purpose or joy to life can there be?"

The grey eyes of the young man were bright with enthusiasm for his current life, and there was pride in the set of his shoulders. Clearly, he saw nobility in his cause.

"But for tonight," the first Ranger, whose name was Fargrin, said, "sleep. Get your rest and be prepared to leave early tomorrow."

Christine smiled.

"Again, thank you so very much for this."

Fargrin nodded.

"I shall bid you good night, then," he replied. "Sleep well, my lady."

...

...

"Jillianna... Jillianna, wake up, now."

Bleary blue eyes blinked slowly open.

"Mitheth Dethtler..." she murmured, yawning.

"Yes, dear," Christine answered. "We are leaving now. Come, wake up."

Jillianna sat up slowly, and rubbed at her eyes. After a moment to fully wake, she dressed and exited the hut to see Christine standing with a sleepy Charles, and the four Rangers who had agreed to guide them to Rivendell.

"Are you prepared?" Fargrin asked the three. Christine nodded for herself and Charles, and Jillianna shifted the bag on her shoulders. "Then come, now."

Fargrin turned, and lead the group out of the camp, following an eastward trail that led uphill.

"We will reach Rivendell in two weeks from this place if we follow the road," Melnor explained. "If we were to cut through the wilds, it could take twice that. But fear not; we will guide you safely."

Christine smiled gratefully.

"We trust you," she replied. "You have shown my family nothing but kindness. Thank you."

XxX  
Next chapter done at last! Yay! Time to squeeze out the next one.

Review, please!


	7. Night Terror

Erik; This chapter is entitled 'Night Terror'. Should I be concerned?

Not particularly.

Erik; ... not impressed. Don't hurt my kids.

*sigh* just read? You'll see what happens. Also, I probably should have said sooner that this is a combination of the books and movies, but also with a bit of my own twist on it. In my defense, I can be a little slow at times, and that's how I forgot to put that in earlier. Oopsies...

Erik; You do realize that none of that is _at all _reassuring?

Don't worry so much. I promise I won't kill anybody, okay? Now on to the story.

Night Terror  
XxX

Early afternoon found the hobbits and Arabelle seated under a tree, eating a late lunch - afternoon tea, Pippin had called it.

Arabelle sat back against the side of the tree and sighed.

"If I never see that _demon _again, it will be too soon," she muttered, taking a drink from her water bag.

"I think we gave it the slip," Merry said dismissively. "Nothing more to worry about."

Sam did not miss the skeptic, worried twitch of Frodo's face, but he said nothing; what good would drawing attention to it do, anyhow?

"Where is Bree, exactly, from here?" Arabelle asked suddenly, opening her eyes.

Sam grinned and pulled out a map.

"Here," he offered, unfolding the paper, and handing it to Arabelle.

She looked at it for a long time, tracing with her eyes a path to the dot on the map marked 'Bree', what she considered the checkpoint on their journey, where Gandalf would meet them, and she would be taken to Rivendell to reunite with her family. But she stopped, her eyes drawing back to one rather large area, divided into north and south;

"The 'Barrow Downs'?" she muttered, glancing up at the others.

Frodo nodded.

"The Downs have an evil name," he explained. "They are said to be haunted by corrupted spirits."

"But there's a path," Sam added, pointing. "Right down the middle. Stick on that and we'll be safe."

Arabelle nodded. She believed Samwise, but something troubled her - _had _troubled her since that _thing _had come upon them earlier that day. She glanced at the map again, reminding herself what was near them; there was a river, the Brandywine, by the map, then not far beyond that, those Barrow Downs. Somewhere in between here and that distant place, something was going to happen. She could feel it in her very bones.

...

...

The night was cold and crisp, and it only served to heighten Arabelle's worry. Something was coming, she knew it.

They were moving carefully, hiding at every convenient place, and taking as much caution as they could.

Arabelle kept a sharp eye out for danger. She knew she wouldn't be able to defend her friends against that rider, but with height advantage, maybe she could get them to a safe place in time.

Frodo was ahead, running from one tree to the next, Sam close behind him. His eyes were almost wild from the fear of the thing they'd encountered, and was most likely still on their trail.

At one point, Merry asked what was happening. Arabelle was about to reply when Pippin cried 'Get down!'

Pressed against the earth behind a screen of bushes, Arabelle glanced up. Ahead on a hill was a rider, cloaked in black, and riding a jet-black horse. A cold dread slithered down her spine. It was that thing that had nearly found them earlier. It was back.

For a long time, it stood on the crest of the hill, dark, hooded head swinging slowly side to side.

Arabelle tried to look away, but some dark force pulled her gaze back to it every time. She had been sure before, but now, seeing the rider ahead, she was certain beyond the slightest doubt; this was no watchful yet secretive friend. This was an enemy of nightmarish caliber. They were in real danger, and a picture was beginning to form of just what they were going up against.

At last, the rider turned away over the hill, and the group breathed again.

"Sam, Arabelle, and I must get to Bree," Frodo whispered.

On Arabelle's left, Merry nodded.

"Right," he murmured. "Bucklebery Ferry. Follow me."

At that, he pushed up from the ground, and the five friends ran through the night.

Arabelle had the feeling that trouble was far from over. There was more to come tonight, and she knew it would not be pleasant.

...

...

Arabelle could see the ferry ahead; a couple dozen yards and they would be on their way across the river. Perhaps she'd been wrong that trouble would find them again.

Merry, still in the lead, had just about reached the road when there was a hissing shriek and a high-pitched whinny. Out of the woods around them came the rider, hissing and leering at them.

The friends scattered, and ran. Arabelle shoved a frozen Pippin in the direction of the ferry, and he took off toward it. Before she herself ran, Arabelle glanced at the rider. Terror seized her; there was no head within the shadows of the hood - _it was empty!_

With a cry, she darted after the others, terrified to look back.

Only Frodo did not make it past. As Arabelle looked back from the flat ferry, she saw Frodo dodging, trying to get round the rider. Sam cried out and tried to run back, but she stopped him.

"No! There is nothing any of us could do. You don't know how to fight!"

But her words were unnecessary; by the time she'd finished speaking, Frodo was running toward them as fast as he could, the rider not far behind.

At the edge of the dock, Frodo jumped at the departing raft, and landed, tumbling into Sam and Arabelle.

The Black Rider checked at the edge of the dock, and let out an angry shriek before it turned and rode away, _followed by three other riders._

"My God, there's more than one..." she breathed, still shaking slightly.

"How far to the nearest crossing," Frodo demanded, voice high and panicked.

"Brandywine Bridge," Merry replied in a similar tone. "Twenty miles."

...

...

The land ahead was bleak. Rolling, grey hills, shrouded in an eerie mist, and dotted all over with standing stones, spread away to either side of the path they were about to take. It was really part of a ridge of land between the hills, a flat space, above the shifting fog, but not far enough for Arabelle's comfort. She could swear there were shapes moving through that mist.

"I don't like it," she whispered. "Perhaps we ought to wait until morning."

Frodo shook his head.

"I think it would be best to put as much distance between us and those riders as possible," he replied, stepping forward. "Besides, Sam was right. This path is safe."

"Safer than wandering the Downs, at the very least," Merry amended.

Beside Arabelle, Pippin shivered.

"We'll make it," Arabelle assured him. "Stay close to me, Pippin, and we will be alright."

The hobbit nodded, and Arabelle was reminded of just how young he really was; in human years, not much older than Charles.

The mists swirled below them, and the hairs on the back of Arabelle's neck stood on end. She did not like this place. None of them did, but Frodo, Sam, and Merry seemed content enough to trust the path. If they did, perhaps it was best that _she _trust it as well.

They were halfway across when a powerful, sudden gust blew up and over the path, obscuring everything in that fearsome mist.

Arabelle jerked to a halt instantly, and turned round and round, calling out for the others when she did not hear them moving ahead of her.

"Oh, God," she breathed, terror filling her. "Frodo! Sam, Merry, Pippin! Answer me!"

She began walking, hopefully straight forward, but not soon enough, realized that the ground was falling away before her, and in the near distance, rose again to a hill topped with haunting standing stones.

Arabelle trembled at the sight of it, and turned to try and go back, but couldn't see the ridge any more. Her breath coming harsh, Arabelle turned and turned, but could see no sign of the road in any direction.

"Frodo!" she cried. "Merry, Sam, Pippin! Where are you!"

"_...elle..."_

The voice sounded close by. One of the others! Perhaps they could get out of here without further trouble.

"Sam? Frodo, Merry, Pippin?"

_"...belle..."_

This time, a cold shiver ran down her spine. That was not one of her friends.

Instinct told her to run, but something froze her limbs, and she was trapped. The mist swirled and in front of her it lifted to reveal a door.

A crypt, Arabelle realized with a sense of horror. She was looking at some ancient grave in the hill before her.

The ground did not move or shake, but up from it rose a black shade, swirling like the fog around her.

_"Arabelle... Come to me, Arabelle..." _

A chilling horror swept over Arabelle. As the shadow loomed over her, she drew her sword and swung wildly at it. The shadow dissipated, and she ran in on direction, praying it would lead her back to the path.

Suddenly, she was sent sprawling on the damp ground. She heard, quite nearby, a cry of pain an fear, and turned to look.

Through the shifting fog, she could discern a shape; small, huddled, and shaking.

"Pippin?"

Wide, wild hazel eyes swiveled up to meet hers, and the young hobbit cried out and threw himself at her.

Arabelle held onto Pippin for a long moment, until that feeing of dread which had preceded the appearance of that terrile shadow returned.

"Up, Pippin," she whispered. "Get up. We must find the others. Hold onto my hand this time, and do not let go, whatever you do."

Pippin nodded, and took Arabelle's hand. Together, they stood, and set out toward a rise that hopefully was the path through the downs, calling all the while for the others.

They came upon the other three in a gully, Merry looking pale, and being supported by Frodo and Sam.

"What has happened?" Arabelle demanded, kneeling down before the hobbits.

"It was one of those shadows..." Pippin whispered. "Wasn't it?"

Merry nodded shakily.

Arabelle frowned. So they'd all seen the shadows. More than one, then. Which meant that they needed to leave, now.

"Can you stand on your own, Merry?" she asked, standing herself.

Merry moved away from Frodo and Sam, and looked up at Arabelle.

"Good," Arabelle smiled. "Now let's go. Everyone hold hands. Hurry."

Arabelle took Pippin's hand again, and saw that the others were all holding firmly onto one another, then led them toward the rise at a quick pace.

Behind them, not far away, a shadow rose. A low moan rose with the wind, and all five friends turned to see another of the shades above them.

"_Run!" _Arabelle cried, darting forward and dragging the others after her. "And whatever you do, for God's sake, _do not let go of each other!"_

Straight across the hills they ran, and soon, they could see the path ahead of them. They were almost there. Almost safe.

"Don't stop!" Arabelle instructed, hauling the others forward when she felt her feet hit even ground. "We are almost there!"

Ahead, she could see where the craggy border of the Barrow Downs opened up to their path to safety. Close. So close.

The five friends hurtled through the gap and down the long steep hill, descending the last hundred feet in a heap.

Arabelle was the first to scramble to her feet, and pulled the others up after her. They were out of the downs. Around them, all was dark and still, and above, the stars shone clear and cold. They'd made it through.

"Let's get away," Arabelle whispered, and the others nodded, all stumbling away, still shaking slightly.

Only when the Downs could no longer be seen did they dare to stop for the night.

"I'll start the fire," Arabelle offered, taking the flint from Sam. She scraped together what wood was nearby, and found some rocks to ring it round. She struck the flint until a spark lit, and sat beside the hobbits. "Are you all all right?"

Frodo and Sam nodded, and Merry offered a shaky smile. Pippin shivered, and huddled close to his older cousins.

"It's all right now, Pippin," Frodo said softly. "We got away."

"And we ought to be getting to sleep soon enough," Sam suggested. "It's late."

"I agree," Arabelle spoke. "If we are to reach Bree tomorrow, we should rest."

...

...

Only the night wind was witness to the sight many would have thought strange; a human girl travelling with four hobbits, all asleep nearly on top of one another, having subconsciously sought out the presence of friends after their experiences that night. Arabelle had an arm around Frodo and Pippin, Sam and Merry pressed against them on the outside. Arabelle shifted, waking momentarily, and smiled faintly at the peace on her friends' faces before her eyes closed again.

They were safe, at last.

XxX  
And that's the chapter. Next chapter, we'll see Jill and Charles and Christine. Review, please!


	8. The Road to Rivendell Part 1

By the Gods, I am so sorry. My computer decided to be a jerk and refused to let me on internet for the longest time. It finally stopped, and then I got sidetracked, and I had to babysit my friend's house so I couldn't get internet there, and then I got sidetracked again. Now I'm back.

Very sorry all.

Erik; You should be.

I am, I am.

The story will now continue.

Erik; Good girl.

Everyone; Yay!

The Road to Rivendell Part 1  
XxX

On either side of the road, the trees rose into a layer of sheltering branches and leaves, causing the light to fall onto the road in dappled patches.

Already they were passing out of the inhabited areas of the Breelands, and moving toward a line of distant hills.

Christine glanced around from where she sat on a piebald mare, and though the woods around were lovely, she could not help but feel a deep sense of foreboding. Something was coming, some sort of storm that could bring only bad. She was not at ease. Her husband and daughter were out there, separated from her and each other, and something awful was coming. She was worried. Strider knew nothing of Erik's attacks, and if he should have one, with the Ranger his only help, what would happen? Certainly Strider was competent, and would do all he could, but would he know what was wrong? Would Erik even mention it?

Perhaps that was what worried her; that Erik would suffer in silence in an attempt to appear strong, and only do himself more harm in the process. She was sure he had a bottle of his medicine, she'd slipped it into his pack before they'd left the Shire two days ago - now almost three.

Unbidden, her mind traveled backward across the years, and she remembered the way her heart had wrenched violently when she'd first witnessed one of his attacks. To this day, she regretted removing his mask that way - always would regret it - and the pain it had caused him. But when he collapsed, gasping and with tears squeezing at the corners of his eyes, she had felt a terrible sinking sensation in her stomach.

She hadn't known what it was then, but she knew now; even that early in their relationship, she had loved him. She had loved him, and been so terrified because there was her world - though she'd been quite in denial at the time - in pieces on the ground. Because of her.

But since then, since those days when her own feelings had frightened and overwhelmed her, so much had changed. Erik had changed. He was strong, she'd always known that, but she couldn't help but think that something horrible was coming; that the danger was greater than any of them realized. She wondered if he'd have the strength to get through - if _any _of them would have that strength in the end.

"Mamma?"

Christine looked over to see Charles beside her on his horse, an over-sized pony with soulful brown eyes, looking back over at her.

"Mamma, are you alright?" he asked softly, gaze intent and intelligent beyond that of a normal ten-year-old. But then, what could she expect? He was her husband's son.

"Yes, Charles dear," Christine assured him gently. "Just thinking."

Charles looked away, realizing that was all his mother would say.

It irked Charles that everyone around him seemed to think he was too young to know what was going on. His sister - and possibly his father as well - was in danger, somewhere out in this strange world, and he had no idea what was coming next. It wasn't fair. Charles knew he could handle knowing. It wasn't fair that he was kept in the dark about everything.

He vowed then and there that he would take every opportunity to prove himself to the others; prove that he _could _handle the truth of their situation.

Jillianna's mind was, like Christine's far from their party. By sometime the next day, Arabelle would be in Bree, and under the care of Gandalf again. She wished she were as brave as her younger friend. Arabelle was out there, trying to help Frodo and Sam, even though she didn't really know how. And Mr. Destler. Jillianna wondered where he was, too. They were both dear to her, and she would hate to see anything happen to her friends.

And there was just something in the air; something big and dangerous was coming. Maybe not soon, and maybe not directly to their group, but something was coming all the same. Jillianna felt it.

She wondered, too, what had brought them here, and why. She had no idea wat the bigger picture was - if there even was one.

"Fargrin," she heard Christine call out ahead of her. "Where is the next town between here and Rivendell?"

The Ranger shook his head.

"There are no more towns, my lady," Melnor spoke up, a dark look in his eyes. "They were lost and destroyed long ago."

The man's words startled Jillianna. Whole towns destroyed? What would have the power and force to destroy multiple settlements?

...

...

Jillianna did not get her answer. And it was not until two days later that they came upon the remains of the old cities. Broken towers, like jaged teeth, tumbled piles of stone that had once been someone's home. Jillianna wondered what had become of the last families living in these ancient ruins.

When they dismounted, Jillianna wandered a little, staying close to camp, but alone.

As she passed through a gap in a tumbled pile of stone - once a wall - something cracked beneath her foot.

It was a wooen doll, crumbling and half-rotted with age, barely identifiable, except for the faded paint of one eye.

Something in Jillianna snapped, and she collapsed, sobbing and shaking.

Who had owned the doll? Had the girl had a family? Did her parents give it to her? Did she have a little brother? Had they all been separated when the town had been destroyed? Had the girl been frightened in the end? Had she managed to escape, and wander, frightened and alone, far from home? Had she missed her family as much as Jillianna did?

Thoughts of her parents an her brother flitted through her mind, and she wondered if she would ever see them again. They'd been gone so long, her parents must be worried sick. And what of her friends, what of Addison?

"I want to go _home,_" she whispered.

"I know, dear."

Jillianna turned to see Christine standing about a foot behind her. The woman knelt, and pulled Jillianna into her arms.

"It will be alright, Jillianna," Christine murmured, rocking slightly. "Everything will turn out all right.

"Sometimes, frightening things that we cannot understand happen. Our first reaction is to run away, to go 'home' to what we know. But sometimes, that is not the wisest move to be made."

Christine paused here, and took a breath, looking up at the sky as the stars began to peek out.

_Oh, Erik..._

"We become so stuck in trying to escape that which we do not understand," she went on, "that we do not see it. Sometimes the frightening, confusing situations are there to help us. We are supposed to go through them, deal with them, try and figure them out, in order to become stronger, better people. It is a fact of life, Jillianna dear."

Jillianna tried not to sniff.

"Thith ith different," she argued.

Christine shook her head.

"No," she replied. "No it isn't. I know how you feel, dear. When I was your age, I knew a man. He taught me to sing, though I never saw him. I believed him to be a messenger from my dead father, and so I listened without hesitation. Only after my first triumph on the stage in Paris did I learn different.

"You know that Mr. Destler is not a normal man, shall we say. You know what he looks like. Seventeen years ago, I was taken by a masked man down under the Opera Garnier to a world I could not understand. I did not know why I had been brought there, nor why I had to remain. The man frightened me, perhaps because of the mas, perhaps because of what I did to him..."

"What you did to him?" Jillianna questioned, looking up at Christine. Her friend's mother had never seemed so wise and in control as she did now.

Christine sighed.

"I hurt him badly. Many, many times over. The first day that I was with him, I removed his mask out of heartless curiosity. I so angered and hurt him that he injured himself. He spent two weeks recovering from my foolish actions.

"But that was not the only injustice I caused the poor man," she said, sighing. "I was frightened by what he felt for me; what _I _was beginning to feel for _him. _It was a situation I did not understand at the time, and so, I grew frightened. My first thought was to flee. And for so long, I did, Jillianna. For so very long I ran from the man, refusing to let his intelligence shape and draw forth my own, though I felt a reverent awe and a sense of rapture when I listened to him.

"In my fear, I turned him away completely, almost left the whole trouble behind for good. But I could not. And I _did not. _Had I, I suspect you would never have known Arabelle and Charles.

"Jillianna, we cannot run away, or wish to run away, when we are faced with the unknown. If we go into it with an open mind, and ready understanding, such instances can teach us more than we ever dreamed we could know."

"Thtill," Jillianna whispered, "I wish I was home."

"So does Arabelle, I would imagine," Christine remarked. "Erik and Charles, as well. And Lord knows _I _would give much to return. But I did not dwell on what could have been. Do not dwell, Jillianna. You will need your wits about you before all is said and done. Be brave, dear. Be brave."

Jillianna managed a small smile at Christine's words, and wiped at her eyes. She allowed the mother to lead her back to where their group had set up camp and one of the Rangers was preparing a dinner from their store of provisions.

...

...

That night, it was not Jillianna who had further trouble, but Christine. Nightmares plagued her. Over and over, she saw Erik have an attack, saw Arabelle wounded and Charles captured. Jillianna did not appear in her dreams, but that was hardly reassuring.

Christine dreamed she stood before a tall shadow, cloaked and hooded in black. It's sword was drawn, and as it thrust the blade into her, all turned to white, and she woke with a start.

Gasping, Christine stared around their camp. Jillianna lay close to her right, Charles to her left. Across the fire, Fargrin, Melnor, and Aidan slept. Only Thorgin remained awake, standing watch not far away. He turned at the sound of Christine stirring.

"Are you well?" Thorgin asked, taking a step toward her in concern.

Christine started slightly, but when it dawned on her who had spoken and what they'd said, she nodded.

"Yes, Thorgin," she sighed. "Only a dream."

"Dreams are not always to be dismissed lightly, my lady," the Ranger replied, a knowing look in his dark eyes. "Many are the times that our leader has dreamed in prophesy."

The very thought that her dream could possibly be more than an overactive imagination made Christine shiver. She did not know what she would do were anything to happen to her family.

Thorgin saw the look on her face, and sighed.

"I do not know what strength is within me, my lady," he whispered, "but if ever I find myself in battle with either your husband or your daughter, I swear to you I shall do my best to protect them and see that they do not fall."

Christine smiled slightly at the determination and strength in Thorgin's voice.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Sleep, my lady," Thorgin replied. "We move on early in the morn."

...

...

That evening, Melnor and Aidan were to go hunting. As the two Rangers prepaired their bows and knives, Charles took his chance to prove himself to these great and mighty grown ups.

"Sirs," the boy said bravely, squaring his shoulders. "I would like to join you."

Melnor smiled, chuckling lightly.

"You are young yet, boy," he said kindly. "And hunting is dangerous, even for grown men."

Charles frowned.

"I can handle it," he replied, grumbling.

Melnor and Aidan exchanged glances.

"Alright, young one," Melnor sighed. "Inform your mother and return to us."

Charles's face lit up, and he nodded eagerly, turning and running to tell Christine. Finally, he would prove that he could handle this world, handle knowing just what danger they were all in.

...

...

As the three of them moved carefully through the brush, Charles allowed himself an excited, victorious smile. He was going hunting. He was going to help provide their group with dinner. His mother would see that he was big, old enough to be told the full truth of their situation.

"Charles, keep up," Aidan hissed. "You must not lose sight of us, lad."

Charles broke from his thoughts to find that he was considerably behind the two Rangers, and ran to catch up.

"_Quietly!" _Melnor admonished sharply. "You will frighten away any animals in the area. They have far better ears than you and I."

All at once, Charles saw all his intentions go out the window. He'd messed up. How could he possibly show his mother and their guides that he could be trusted with the truth if he could not even keep together on a hunt?

"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered. "Truly."

A gentle, large hand was placed lightly on his shoulder.

"Everyone makes a mistake on their first hunt," Melnor assured him. "When we return to camp, I will teach you to use a bow, if you wish?"

Charles's eyse shone with amazed excitement.

"Really?" he squeaked.

Melnor laughed lightly.

"Yes, young one," he promised. "Now come."

Melnor turned, and Aidan and Charles were left to follow after him through the trees.

As they walked, Charles scanned the woods all around. He really wanted to be helpful, and he couldn't get his mind off of Melnor's promise to teach him to use a bow when they returned to camp.

Suddenly, Melnor paused, and held up a hand to stop. Ahead in a clearing stood a deer. Its antlers were huge and sharp, and the regalness that surrounded it reminded Charles vaguely of his father. It was an awe-inspirint sight.

Melnor motioned Charles and Aidan forward, signalling them to stop again when they were just behind him. Carefully, and silently, Aidan moved off through the trees and bushes around the glade.

"Where is he going?" Charles whispered.

"To the other side of the glen," Melnor replied. "In case the buck tries to run, Aidan will be there to cut it off."

So saying, Melnor took up his bow and drew an arrow from the quiver on his back. Charles's eyes widened.

"What are you going to do?" he breathed, mystified and slightly frightened.

"Watch, Charles," the Ranger murmuredm knocking the arrow and drawing the bowstring. With a _whiz, _the arrow was flying through the air, and struck home in the deer's left side.

The deer, frightened by the sudden penetration of the arrow, turned and ran. But Aidan was waiting, and finished the animal quickly; a clean cut across its jugular.

With a hiss of triumph, Melnor moved into the clearing to help Aidan with the carcas.

"Come, young one," he called, hefting the dead animal over his shoulders. "We must return now."

Charles followed silently, somewhat stunned by the sudden abruptness of the deer's death. It had startled and saddened him that the Rangers could kill such a lovely creature without so much as batting an eye. This silence, Aidan noticed.

"What is it, little one?" the Ranger asked quietly, falling back to Charles's side. The boy's eyes were glued to the deer's head as it drooped over Melnor's broad shoulder.

"Ah," Aidan guessed. "The deer. It is a part of life, Charles. We must eat, and the deer cannot live forever. If we do not hunt it, old age or some other wild beast will. Every part of it will serve a purpose. We do not waste what we recieve. The deer gave its life that we might eat, and its spirit will be honored."

Charles broke away at last and looked up at Aidan. The Ranger's eyes were sincere and gentle. The boy nodded.

That night, it was Aidan's turn to watch. Unknown to the Ranger, Charles sat up, watching from his bedroll as Aidand lovingly carved something out of a tine from the deer's antlers. Sleepily, Charles wondered what it was. Before he could ask, however, sleep overcame him, and he slipped away into dreams.

XxX  
I really am sorry that this took so long. I only got sidetracked though, because for the longest time, I couldn't think of anything, either. I finally managed to get this much out, and I'm pretty darn happy with it.

I think the problem is, though, that unless something really interesting that moves along the main plot of the story, I have difficulty getting anything down. I must work on that.

Anyway, I hope you all liked this, and review, please!


	9. Bree at Last

I'm really, really sorry,  
I really truly am.  
But my life got in the way,  
College, medieval fairs, and damn!  
I'm sorry I haven't updated.  
I know it's been long, forgive me?  
I never meant to leave you hanging.  
Dear reviewers, please don't hit me?

Seriously, though, you guys. I didn't mean to take this long before an update. My Gods above, there's so much I've got to catch up on here. I do apologize. Somehow, I thought school, medieval fairs, and FFN would be easy to juggle.

I have discovered otherwise.

But now, at last, here is the next chapter. I promise to try to update more regularly again.

Bree At Last  
XxX

Arabelle, used to rising early for school, was the first to wake up. Blinking, she made to move her arm, but found it trapped. As the reason why crossed her mind, she smiled.

Pippin's head was pillowed on her right upper arm, his small body curled into a ball. Behind him, Merry had moved in close against his young cousin, protectively, with an arm wrapped around him.

On her left, Frodo's back was pressed against her side. She knew he had been terrified last night, however hard he'd tried to hide it; the light in his eyes had spoken volumes. He was only lightly curled up, one leg straight, the other tucked. His left hand was hidden behind his head; Sam held his right.

The urge to protect the hobbits, all at once so small and strong, rose inside of Arabelle. They were so sweet, all of them, and each in their own way had earned a place of honor in her affections.

The fire was out, but as it was dawn, and the hobbits all looked so comfortable, Arabelle saw no reason to move until the others woke. This, of course, meant that her thoughts had time to wander, and they wandered to her family, and Jillianna. They wandered to her father.

She'd never been separated from her parents for so long before. Only occasionally had she spent the night at Jillianna's, and only ever one night at a time. Tears threatened again, but Arabelle forced them back. She had other things to focus on now.

But try as she might, her thoughts stuck firmly on Erik and the others, wondering just what they were doing. They'd be on their way to Rivendell now, probably. She wondered if her papa was alright. She knew that when he worried, he neglected his own health terribly (if the truth be known, Erik's health had never been so important to him as the health of his family), and if he were to have an attack, here, in this far away place, would he live?

Arabelle shook her head hard to dispell those thoughts. The image of her father in pain should not have a place in her thoughts now. She had to see the hobbits to Bree - wherever that was. _Then _she could think of her family again.

Beside her, Arabelle felt Pippin stir, and she smiled, turning her head in time to meet his sleepy, somewhat confused gaze. Carefully, she moved her arms and sat up.

"Good morning," she whispered gently. Turning, she touched Frodo's and Sam's shoulders. "Wake up," she called quietly. "Frodo, Sam." Now she shook Merry's arm. "Wake up, Merry. It is morning, now."

Sam, stretching, went to tend the fire and start breakfast, Pippin trailing after to try and help.

Breakfast was a quick mash of potatoes, sausages, and some tomatoes, fried over the little cooking fire. It was not much, but it was good, and it would hold them until that night.

Arabelle could think of nothing else. They were mere hours away from Bree, where, once there, Gandalf would take her to Rivendell, and she would be with her family again. She could hardly wait to see Erik, Christine, Charles, and Jillianna.

When they set out, the sky was clear. It seemed to Arabelle that it mirrored her happiness.

_I'm coming, Papa, _she thought with a smile. _Mama, Charles, Jill, I'll be there soon. I've missed you all._

The terror of the night before seemed forgotten. The hobbits were smiling and laughing again as they walked, and Arabelle was happy. They were all happy. It was a day for bright sunshine, and happy thoughts.

...

...

By noon, the skies had darkened and a downpour was unleashed upon the Breelands.

There really had been no warning of the storm. No first drop to make the travellers look up and watch as the clouds rolled in.

One moment, the sky was clear. The next, it was as though night had fallen.

The sudden change in the weather sent a chill down Arabelle's spine which had nothing to do with the earthly coldness in the air.

Something was not right. Things, she sensed, were about to go quite amiss. Trouble was coming, and it was coming fast; just as the storm had broke upon them, there would be little, if any, warning.

* * *

When the rain began to fall, Erik groaned. He'd never really cared for storms. It wasn't that he feared them, oh no. He disliked the damage they caused, and the chilly ache that in recent years was left behind in his bones when a storm passed through.

He and Strider drew up the hoods of their cloaks, and pulled the edges tight around themselves.

The rain was icy cold and made Erik shiver when it hit his neck.

"We'll reach Bree within the hour," Strider consoled, slowing to walk beside Erik.

"It is not our position which worries me," Erik sighed. "Arabelle is in this."

As he spoke, lightning crashed overhead, and Erik prayed his daughter would be alright.

Hearing the father's words, Strider nodded in understanding. He had no children of his own, but there were some in his band of Rangers who were yet very young. Aidan, for one, was only eighteen winters.

"I am sure she will be alright," the Ranger said softly, continuing on toward Bree.

Erik sighed quietly, and tilted his head up toward the skies for just a moment, wondering what was happening to Arabelle, to the others. Christine, Charles, and Jillianna, at least, ought to have been far enough to the east to be out of the storm for the time being. But Arabelle...

Not for the first time, Erik wished he'd forbidden her to go with the hobbits. He wished he'd insisted she stay with him and the others. She'd have been angry, but in time, she would have understood.

And she would be safe, with Erik there to protect her. Long ago, he'd promised to always be there. He should have remembered that promise and convinced her not to go with Frodo and Samwise.

Or at the very least, he should have gone with her. Gandalf would have taken great care of his family, as would the Rangers. Erik had known that the entire time. When it all came down to it, he realized he really should have gone with her to begin with.

Well, he was fixing that mistake now. He would find her in Bree and they would go together with the hobbits and Strider to Rivendell, where they could find a way home.

* * *

They were all soaked to the bone. The hobbits and the girl cut a sorry sight, trembling with cold and huddled close together as they trudged down the road, which had long turned into a veritable river.

Arabelle had allowed the tears from that morning to fall, and now, masked by the storm, they fell unnoticed down her cheeks.

For the first time in her life, she wished she was not so stubborn. She wished she was more of a coward; she wished she'd gone with her father.

Arabelle forced back a sob, thinking that it would have been better if she'd let her papa convince her to come with him instead. She wished he'd ordered her to. At least then she'd be with Erik.

At least she would know whether or not her family was out of the storm.

The storm. Good God, Arabelle swore she would be very surprised if at least one of their group did not have an awful cold come the morning. It was at most mid afternoon, and already, everything they wore - and probably everything in their packs - was soaked through and caked with mud. To the knees, the skirt of her pale yellow dress was a dark, dingy brown, and weighed heavily against her legs.

She wanted nothing so much in that moment as to be home, safe and warm, curled up on the couch, leaning against her father and reading a book together, with a fire crackling in the hearth, her mother and her brother and Jillianna there, too.

Arabelle was beginning to feel petulant and moody, as well. Part of her wanted, just to spite the powers that be, to simply plop down on the wayside, and stay there until she was discovered by someone who could take her to her parents.

And yet, when all was said and done, and when all the negative thoughts had gone through her head, she knew her place was here, with Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. Someone had to look out for them. They may have been strong, brave hobbits, but they were still barely more than half her size.

Without the sun, she had no idea of the time. It seemed that the four of them were caught in never-ending night. Visibility was poor, and the slashing, icy drops of rain only made it worse. How would they know if those riders were about? One could be right behind them, and they would never know until it was too late.

The very thought set the hairs on the back of Arabelle's neck on edge. She glanced about, wondering if the vague shadows in the gloom really were just roadside trees and bushes.

Against her side, Pippin shivered, a small sound escaping him, and she adjusted her cloak so that it covered all four of the hobbits.

"We'll be alright," she promised, looking at each of them in turn. All four looked like kicked puppies; lost, forlorn, and drenched. She imagined _she _looked much the same as her little friends.

Indeed, she _felt _as bedraggled as they looked. Her entire body was wet and cold, and her clothes weighed heavily on her. The mud caked on her dress scrapped against her legs and made its way down into her boots where it scratched at her ankles. Her hair hung in lank, dripping rat-tails around her face, she couldn't stop shivering.

"If we keep moving," Arabelle explained, "we will be warmer. We are surely not far now."

Pulling them all in close so that the edges of her cloak just spread around the four hobbits, Arabelle gently lead them along down the road.

* * *

When at last the two travellers reached Bree, Erik smiled. The cold dampness had made his bones sore and he was tired. It was a relief to reach a place where they could find a warm bed until Arabelle and the hobbits arrived.

"Stay close to me," Strider whispered as they neared the gate. "This town is not always friendly to Rangers and those who travel with us."

Erik nodded, though he suspected any potential 'unfriendliness' would be due to his face rather than his acquaintances.

The town of Bree was a backwater, that much was obvious. The houses were squat and unremarkable, and to Erik's practised eye did not look quite as sound as they could be. He was willing to bet that the buildings were very drafty in the winter.

The entire place, with its air of smallness and exclusive community reminded him only too keenly of Boscherville. With a slight tremor that might have been either from cold or the memories, Erik reached up and pulled the hood of his cloak further down over his face to hide the mask. This was a small town. If even one person saw his mask, it would be all over the place come the morning.

But, oh, God, the memories. Erik felt his breath hitch in his throat at the waves of scenes that crashed against the backs of his eyes. His mother, Marie, Father Mansart, Sasha, Doctor Barye.

The mere thought of Etienne still unsettled him. The man surely had known that Madeline had a young son who had no one else to care for him - save a mouse who was too kind to shudder at his face, and too frightened to take him to her parents - and still he had wanted to take her away. And send little Erik to an asylum.

God above only knew how that might have turned out.

He ground to a halt when a man who looked just like Barye walked by. The man had not even noticed Erik with the driving rain, but still the mere sight sent his heart racing. His breath came quick and unsteady as all the memories of every second of his life - all the horror done to him, and _by _him - assaulted him. His head spun and he had to blink to clear his vision.

"Erik?"

He recognized the voice as Strider's but beyond that, Erik was lost. It was not until the Ranger repeated his name and touched his shoulder that Erik came back to himself.

Strider was gazing at him intently, grey eyes glinting under his hood.

"Are you well?"

Erik nodded weakly.

"I will be," he muttered. "Just memories. This town is far too like the one in which I was born."

Shaking his head to clear it, Erik ignored the dull pressure in his chest, and motioned for Strider to lead on.

* * *

At last the group, drenched and ragged, came across a wall, with a high wooden gate across the road. They had made it. This was Bree.

Arabelle could have cried. Beyond that gate lay the inn, The Prancing Pony. In that inn Gandalf waited. In the morning, he would take her away to Rivendell, to her family. She would go home, soon.

Home. To her own world.

Where there was no magic.

Where there was no such thing as evil jewelry.

Where there were no hobbits.

Soon, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin would be but a memory, never to be seen again.

Quite suddenly, Arabelle stopped. The gate which had looked so wonderful a mere moment ago was horrible now. It would return her to her family, but take her from her new little friends. She still wanted to go home, but not at such a high cost.

"Arabelle?"

She looked down at the hobbits. Her four dear friends. How could she never see them again?

"It is nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Just a thought. Let's get inside before we get even more soaked."

"Somehow, I don't think that's possible," Sam muttered, shrinking back into his cloak slightly.

Arabelle was silent as they approached the gate. Her mind was whirling. She didn't want to leave her friends, but neither could she stay. Her family and Jillianna would surely go back. How could she stay anywhere without them? But to _never _see Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin again?

"What business brings you to Bree?" a man asked from a vent hole in the gate. He was a swarthy man with stringy, lank gray hair.

"We wish to stay at the inn," Frodo replied firmly, though Arabelle heard his voice tremble just a bit at the end. "Our business is our own."

"Allright, young sir," the gate man placated, "I meant no offense. It's my job to ask questions, after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."

Arabelle agreed with that whole-heartedly. She glanced over her shoulder as they entered the gate, but there was nothing to be seen. Shivering, she followed the hobbits through and into Bree.

* * *

Again, I do apologize for taking so long to update, but school is ending, the first of three fairs is coming to an end - it will be some weeks still before the next one - so I should have some more time for a bit.

Anyway, review, please!


	10. The Prancing Pony

The Prancing Pony

* * *

The streets of Bree were crowded, narrow, and mud. Arabelle tried to keep a hold of the hobbits, as the five friends were jostled about by carts and people. Why there were so many out in such foul weather, Arabelle would never know and always wonder.

A man with a cart shouted gruffly for them to get out of his way, and Arabelle pulled Pippin against her side just when he might have been trampled. Gently, she wrapped an arm around the youngest hobbit, and offered an encouraging smile.

But inside, she was not so confident. Part of her insisted that she _not _go inside The Prancing Pony. Part of her said to stay here, with the hobbits, so that she could protect her new friends, and always have adventures with them.

The other part of her, the part that was her father's baby, cried for him; that part of her balked at being alone for even a little bit, and she missed Erik terribly. She also missed her mother, Charles, and Jillianna. Jillianna had, after all, been her first - and best, after her father - friend.

To never see Erik again... or Charles, Jillianna and Christine, as well...

Outside of the inn, Arabelle had to stop again. She took a deep breath and looked up into the rain. She would have to say goodbye to the hobbits in the morning. She would be leaving them tomorrow. And she would never see her four dear friends again.

"I'll miss you," she whispered as she followed into the inn after the others. Just before Frodo, in the lead, would have entered, he turned, startled blue eyes piercing Arabelle's.

"That's right!" he remembered. "Gandalf is supposed to bring you to Rivendell tomorrow..."

And then all four pairs of eyes were looking up at her, and Arabelle fought to keep back the tears. With effort, she managed a small, apologetic smile.

"Now is not the moment to dwell," she said thickly, swallowing. "We don't have much time left together, so we must make the most of it. I can promise you one thing, however," Arabelle added, kneeling in the mud and pulling the four hobbits in close. "I will _never _forget you."

Arabelle pulled her arms tightly around them, and sighed.

"I'll remember you all for the rest of my days," she promised.

* * *

Once inside the inn, Strider went to the counter, and rented them a room for the night. Erik was really very glad for the chance to rest before Arabelle came. The pressure in his chest had already backed away, but to be safe, he sat on one of the two beds and pulled the bottle of hawthorn. He slid one of the tablets into his mouth and swallowed. Strider had not noticed; he was still poking around the room.

"We have some time before the hobbits will arrive," the Ranger said.

Erik sighed. He was glad for the rest, but he wanted to see Arabelle again, to know that she was alright.

"It has been a long journey," Strider continued. "Will you come down to the tavern for a drink?"

Erik shook his head. It had been eighteen years since he'd had more than an occasional glass of wine, and even in all his time under the opera house, when his life was at its darkest, he had never had more than a few small glasses at a time. Really, he didn't much care for the taste of most alcohols. Only wine really went down smoothly, and he doubted there was much beside ale, mead, and beer, here.

Strider frowned, but accepted Erik's decision to stay in the room.

"I'll bring her up the moment they get here," he promised. This close now, he could see the exhaustion writ across his companion's face and in the slight slump of Erik's proud shoulders. "Rest. You'll want to talk with her tonight."

Without really thinking about it, Erik nodded slightly. He _was _tired, actually. He hadn't traveled on foot that much since he was a boy, running from his mother's house.

Carefully, he lay back against the pillows, feeling tired and old; his bones were still sore from the weather and the travel, and he was still soaking. Quickly, he stood up from the bed, and pulled off his cloak, hanging it on a peg in the wall. He crossed the room to the little fireplace, and, using the tinder kit, managed to get a little fire flickering. He warmed his hands for a moment, then moved back to where he'd dropped his pack by the bed.

He took off the mask, and wrung it out, then set it by the fire to dry for a few minutes. Even though he was alone in the room, he did not feel comfortable without the mask. As quickly as he could, Erik wriggled out of his wet clothes, and placed them and his boots, by the fire. Barefoot, he went to his pack and dug through it. Under food and emergency provisions (_Oh, Christine, _he thought with a soft smile), he found a tunic and pants that were dry and pulled them on.

With nothing else to do, he padded around the room, silent as a cat. That, along with the power of his voice, was one thing that had not changed with age; Erik could still move without a sound.

Or at least, not a sound from the floorboards, he admitted as one of his knees cracked.

"_Maudit _storm" he grumbled, plopping moodily onto the bed. God above, but he _hated _getting old. It was in quiet moments like these that it was brought home to him; he did not have very much time left. He was thirty years older than his wife, and fifty one years older than his eldest child. He was nearing the end of his life.

Really, it amazed him that he hadn't died sooner, with his heart, and all the drugs he'd used in Paris and Persia. The scars - mental _and _physical - of both places still haunted him with a vengeance. It really was because of his wife and children that he still lived.

Like after that attack beneath the opera house, when Christine had removed his mask. For two weeks, she'd played nursemaid, and for most of the first of the two weeks, Erik had truly expected to die. In the first three days, it was near impossible to move without pain flaring in his chest.

But Christine, though she had been somewhat repulsed - Erik knew it, and hardly minded; there were times when his face still repulsed _him, _after all - had taken excellent care of him. She had brought every meal to him as he lay on the couch, and, on the first couple of days, had cautiously fed him by hand. If he hadn't let his foolish pride get in the way, he'd have stayed on that couch longer, as much to have more of Christine's devoted attention as to regain lost strength and let his body recover.

And yet, here he still was, alive, and waiting for his daughter to arrive at an inn, in a city in another world.

* * *

Frodo spoke to the man at the counter in the inn.

Arabelle didn't really pay much attention until she heard, "Underhill, my name's Underhil," from Frodo. It seemed odd that he should use a false name, but then she remembered what Gandalf had said back in Bagend.

_You'll have to leave the name of Bagins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire._

"We're friends of Gandalf the Gray," Frodo was saying. "Can you tell him we've arrived?"

The barman looked confused and the hair on the back of Arabelle's neck stood up. Something was not right.

"Gandalf," the man muttered to himself. "Gandalf... Oh, yes! I remember! Big gray beard, pointy hat."

Frodo nodded, a smile growing on his face, and Arabelle felt relief. They would be in safe hands soon.

"Not seen him for six months."

It took every ounce of Arabelle's will-power not to cry out in frustration.

"What do we do now?" she heard Sam whisper, and it was this that brought her out of her surprise. She might not know much about the situation, but someone had to hold them safe. Someone had to be sure that their size was not used against them.

"We will wait," she said softly. "We have a room. We ought all to take warm baths; we're soaked. Things will only go worse if one of us takes sick. Come. Who are we supposed to ask?"

...

...

Arabelle sighed as she slid completely under the water. Half an hour since they'd reached the _Pony, _the five friends were all ensconced in a washroom respectively, enjoying hot baths.

_It has been too long, _Arabelle thought to herself. Bree may have been a small village, but it had easy access to hot water with all the large fireplaces. And the size of the tub reminded her so much of home.

It was nice, to be able to take a bath in a tub that was meant for a human, rather than a hobbit.

Refreshed at last, she stood, and began to dry first her hair, then the rest of herself. Arabelle pulled a second dress from her pack - mercifully dry - and slid it on over her shoulders. Hair still damp, but looking more like curls than rat's tails, she stepped out into the hall, and made her way into the room that she and the hobbits had rented.

It was peaceful, there. Quiet and still. She could think, for a moment; alone and unwatched.

Arabelle certainly felt the need to think.

Gandalf was not here. Could that mean that her family was in danger? Had the wizard even been able to get them to the Rangers who would take them to Rivendell? Had he been delayed in meeting them? How would she get home, now?

Whatever had happened was not good. It unsettled Arabelle greatly that Gandalf was not there waiting for them all, but worse; they did not know why. None of the five friends could even begin to guess why the wizard was absent. Arabelle, though, had far more to lose if trouble had come. Her entire life was heaven only knew where, in this strange, dangerous world.

For a long moment, Arabelle fought tears. She could not keep the images of her loved ones, hurt or dead, somewhere in the wilds of this faraway place.

She ran her fingers back through her hair - a very Erik gesture - and sighed. Crying would not save her family. Crying would not keep her friends from harm. Crying would help no one. It was up to her now, to protect the hobbits and find out why Gandalf was not here.

"Oh, hello, Arabelle."

It was Merry. Arabelle offered a smile of welcome. She'd had the least interaction with Merry, but already she could see that he was like herself in many ways; stubbornly independent, brave, a bit rash, but still very much in need of his companions (Just as Arabelle felt lost without her father, so it seemed Merry felt lost without the other hobbits around).

At the moment, however, he just looked young and vulnerable, in only a shirt and his pants, still rubbing at his hair.

"I think I may go for a walk about after this," he was saying.

Arabelle shook her head.

"I wouldn't, Merry," she whispered. "Remember those riders. There is something inhumanly evil in them."

"They're following us, aren't they?" Merry asked, eyes wide.

Repressing a shiver, Arabelle glanced out the small window. The room they'd rented out was hobbit-sized. The innkeeper had one of his workers move in a larger bed for Arabelle, but everything else in the room was tiny.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she said absently, pulling her gaze back to Merry. "They did before. Remember yesterday?"

Merry nodded and looked back at the door.

"Will you come with us? Frodo said that they were all going to the taproom when they were done."

Arabelle smiled. Frodo was clearly very eager to see Gandalf and get the danger over with. Merry, it seemed, did not want to be alone; even with the larger Arabelle for company, he appeared nervous and unsure, looking like a wild creature ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Alright," Arabelle agreed, standing. "Let's go see the others."

...

...

Frodo was... _dancing... _on a _table. _It wasn't the strangest thing she'd ever seen, but for Arabelle, it came close. She knew when he'd been begged to get up there and sing that he had no desire to. His heart was not in it. Frodo was worried by Gandalf's absence, and didn't want to draw attention to their group.

Arabelle could understand why. The strangest sense of foreboding had come over her, and she felt it would be wise to keep a low profile here. Something was about to happen; something momentous, and Arabelle had no idea if it would be good, or bad.

* * *

When Strider saw the group enter, he did not at first see the girl. When he did see a female figure cross the barroom, she was well behind the group of hobbits. It was possible that this was not his target. That the people who had just entered were _not _the ones Gandalf had asked him to guide to Rivendell with him - seeing as Gandalf was not here, however, it seemed that he and Erik would be guiding them in the wizard's place.

When, half an hour later, the girl returned from the hall she'd walked down, a hobbit at her side, and sat with the three other halfling new-comers, he knew.

This was Arabelle; the daughter of his companion. He sat forward to go to her, tell her that her father was here, but someone shouted for one of the little ones - the one who had named himself Underhill when they'd arrived (he was Baggins, then; Gandalf had told him that Underhill would be his traveling name) - to sing a song. Underhill was obliged to stand on a table and sing.

At first, the little hobbit showed no interest whatsoever in it. But as the song progressed and nothing untoward occurred, he began to enjoy himself, and to dance a little jig. Near the end, he jumped and spun, very nearly landing on a tray of crockery and sending it and himself crashing to the floor. The fate was avoided, however, and the little one climbed down with the help of his friends amidst laughing and cheers.

"What's that?" Strider heard one of the halflings demand moments later.

"This, my friend," replied another, "Is a pint."

"It comes in pints?" the first gasped, barely waiting for his fellow to reply around a mouthful of cup. "I'm getting one."

"But you've had a whole half already!" a third hobbit argued. His words went unheeded, and likely unheard. The first hobbit was already climbing up onto a bar stool.

It was while the one was gone that the hobbit who'd spoken last noticed Strider's eyes on their company.

"That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived," he heard him say to the fourth, pointing out Strider's location.

The girl, Arabelle, quickly pulled his hand down.

"Do not make it so obvious that we know," she hissed. "Take care, Samwise."

So. Now he knew at least three names. The girl was, without doubt, Arabelle, Erik's child. The stout hobbit who'd noticed him was Samwise, and Underhill's true name, as Gandalf had told him, was Frodo Baggins. All he had now to do was determine the names of the other two, and he could go to them.

"_Baggins? _Sure _I know a Baggins. He's over there. _Frodo Baggins. _He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side."_

_"Pippin!" _the one now _publicly _identified as Frodo Baggins cried, leaping up. Strider saw Arabelle start after him, but the little one was already at the bar. He'd grabbed the other's arm - now identified as Pippin - to silence him, but tripped backwards over the foot of one of the men sitting there. There was a flash of gold and all Strider's doubts vanished.

Then Frodo disappeared.

* * *

Chaos erupted in the room.

Arabelle cried out, and ran to where Frodo had been. She pulled Pippin away from the bar, meaning to chastise and remind him that Frodo had given the innkeeper a different name on arrival, _for a reason, _but never got farther than getting him off his seat.

A man, cloaked and unknown, was forcing Frodo roughly up the stairs ahead of him.

"Sam! Merry!" she barked, pointing up the stairs. "He took Frodo. That way!"

The words seemed to wake Pippin up to the danger, and he grabbed the closest thing to hand - a chair - and followed.

As they rushed up the stairs, Arabelle drew her sword. She was furious; furious with this stranger for taking her friend, furious with herself for allowing it. She had vowed to protect Frodo and the others, and already, she'd failed. The moment trouble hit, she'd been so baffled by Frodo's disappearance that she'd let an unknown enemy slip right in and take him.

At the top of the stairs, they heard a door slam. Arabelle listened closely, and thought for a moment, then dashed to her left. There were only two doors down this way, and one of them was closed. With a snarl, she kicked out at the door with all her strength, and the five of them went charging into the room.

"Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam growled, fists up.

Arabelle took Frodo by the arm and dragged him back behind her.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit," the stranger said to Sam, sheathing his sword as he spoke. "But that will not save you."

As he spoke, Arabelle became aware of another in the room - hidden in the shadows by one of the two beds. Her defenses raised at once.

"You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo," the stranger continued. "They are coming."

The figure in the shadows had moved closer, and Arabelle caught a glimmer of eyes beneath the hood.

"Who is your companion?" she demanded. "I will not trust the word of one who keeps secrets."

The person stepped forward. He was incredibly tall and imposing, but when he drew back his hood with one pale, almost skeletally thin hand...

Arabelle let out a shriek and flew into her father's arms.

* * *

Chapter is finished! I had meant this to be up sooner, but I'm in a fight show, so I've been a bit busy with rehearsals. But I swear to you, guys, I won't abandon this. And I still intend to finish my other stories, fear not.

Erik; It's about damn time you brought my baby back to me!

... You're welcome.

Arabelle; DADDY! *promptly glomps Erik*

*father/daughter snuggle time*

D'awwww. Isn't that cute? Review, please!


	11. The Road to Rivendell Part 2

The Road to Rivendell Part 2

* * *

When Fargrin returned from scouting, Melnor was giving Charles a lesson in the use of bows and arrows. The boy was a quick study, and would have made a great Ranger one day. But Charles was not theirs to keep. He, his mother, and the girl would be meeting the rest of their companions in Rivendell to go back to their home.

Christine was the first to notice that the Ranger had returned. She stood as he approached Thorgin and Aidan.

"There is no sign of trouble," he assured them. "We are safe thus far."

"Thsafe?" Jillianna asked, walking into the conversation. Fargrin nodded.

"Yes. Gandalf and Strider both intimated that there was some danger surrounding the halflings that your friend was accompanying," he replied. "Neither said what the danger was; Gandalf was too wary to speak it, and Strider did not know. We were told to watch in case any enemy came after the three of you for your connections to them."

"Frodo'th ring..." Jillianna whispered, realizing the danger Arabelle had wandered into.

There was silence for a moment, and a wary light filled Melnor's eyes.

"This... ring," the Ranger began. "What did it look like?"

"I remember it," Charles spoke up. "It was golden, and when Gandalf put it in the fire, weird letters appeared on it."

"By Eru..." breathed Aidan. "The One Ring..."

"_Quiet!" _Thorgin barked. "It bodes ill to speak of It."

"Why?" Charles asked, cocking his head to one side and looking up at the Rangers and his family. Melnor smiled sadly.

"Go back to your archery practice, lad," he suggested softly. "You are too young."

Charles exploded.

"No I'm _not!" _he cried, taking a firm stance, crossing his arms, and reminding Christine very much of his father. "I'm _not _too young! I can handle knowing!"

"Charles," Christine began, but Melnor interrupted.

"No, my lady," he said gravely. "If the boy wishes to know, he will."

Melnor looked at Charles and spoke.

"The danger your sister and father have gone into is deadly. The ring that your hobbit friend carries is evil, infused with Its own life, almost. It has Its own will, and will seek to twist that of Its bearer and the companions around him.

"Worse still, Charles, it emits a sort of call. All fell things can feel its dark power, none moreso than the Ringwraiths."

"Ringwraiths?" Charles whispered, spellbound.

Melnor nodded.

"Yes. They were men, once. Kings of the nine kingdoms of men. Long ago, they were given rings to aid them in their ruling. But they were cheated. Greed blinded them to suspicion, and so they took the rings they were offered, little knowing that the Dark Lord Sauron himself had had a hand in their making.

"The rings transformed them through the years, until they faded away from this world. They became wraiths, creatures of shadow invisible to human eyes. They go about all hooded and cloaked in black, riding black steeds. They can _sense _the presence of the Ring. They follow It wherever It goes, and will not hesitate to _kill _the bearer, or any who stands in their way, however unintentionally. This is the danger they are in. That you _all _are in."

There was a heartbeat of horrified silence, then Christine whirled in a flurry of skirts and ran to her pack. She scrambled to roll up her sleeping pallet.

"We don't have much time, then!" she cried. All she could think was that her husband and her daughter were in danger, and she had to warn them. "We must warn them."

Fargrin stopped her gently, and took her blankets from her hands, setting them on the ground again.

"Our task was to see you safely to Rivendell," he said softly. "We must not deviate from that course."

Christine wrenched herself away, suddenly in a panic. They were not going to warn Erik and Arabelle. Her husband and daughter would not know the danger they were in. They would be _killed!_

"You can't mean this!" she shrieked, in hysterics. "They _don't know!"_

As she began to flail, Melnor jumped forward and caught her wrists.

"My lady," he said calmly, gently. "You do not know how to fight. You would be more hinderance than help."

Christine let our another scream and tore away.

"I left him to _die _once before, I _won't _do it again!"

She dropped to the ground, sobbing, her hands clutched at her throat. A necklace hung there; years ago, back beneath the opera house, Erik had pressed a flower, and laquered it into a round setting. He'd presented it to her that Christmas - their first knowing one another. The necklace had been little more than a thoughtful gift from a dear friend when it was given, but through the years, it had become the symbol of their love; the symbol of everything they had made together and all that Christine held dear.

The flower was a blood red rosebud.

* * *

"Oh, Papa!" Arabelle sobbed, clinging to her father and laughing wildly. "Oh, _Papa!"_

Erik pressed her in close, one hand clutching her dark curls, the other on the small of her back.

"Oh, _ma fille cherie," _he breathed, lightly kissing the top of her head. Thank heaven they had not been apart for very long. The stress of three uncertain days, and at first thinking it might be as many weeks had been a strain on his mind, and he was only too glad to have her back at his side again.

_"Je vous manque, _Papa," Arabelle murmured against his chest. "I missed you _so much."_

Erik smiled and took her chin in his hands.

"I know, my dearest," he said gently. "I missed you, too. But I'm here now. We are together. Everything will be alright."

"You cannot stay in your room tonight," Strider stated, returning to the business at hand now that father and daughter were reunited. "It is not safe. You will stay here, with Erik and myself."

The Ranger spoke almost as though he expected to be challenged, but none would now. Relief had flooded over all four of the hobbits the moment they saw Erik, and Arabelle's reaction to his presence. If their friend's father trusted this man, then so could they.

...

...

Erik had clutched her fiercely close against him when Arabelle told of the terror she and the hobbits had found in their encounters with the Black Riders. He vowed never to let her wander into danger alone again.

The hobbits slept well that night, but Arabelle did not. She hardly tried to sleep. Her papa was here and she was too relieved and overjoyed to sleep. So she sat up with him and told him all about her three day adventure.

"We were chased for quite a while," she whispered, mindful of her sleeping friends. "But we made it through without being caught. I was so frightened, Papa, I could think of nothing but escaping. I do not want to know what those shadow things would have done with us."

"You're safe now, dear-heart," Erik assured her, squeezing her shoulders gently. "Soon we will go to Rivendell and go home."

The word 'home' struck an unhappy chord somewhere inside Arabelle, and she looked away.

"I... I don't know that I want to leave yet, Papa," she sighed. "I want to protect the hobbits. They need someone, Papa. I know I do not know how to fight yet, but I cannot abandon them."

Erik frowned. This was _not _what was supposed to happen. How much had she changed in three days?

Or did he really not know her as well as he thought?

Was she really so grown up that she would put her own safety and her love for her home aside for the hobbits? Had she grown so attached to them?

But that was beside the point. The point was; he was not about to let her endanger herself further. Like her mother and her brother, she was _his, _and if any one or thing was going to hurt her, it would be him alone, and then only to save her further harm. And as hurting her for _any_ reason was quite beyond him, she was not allowed to get hurt out here.

"We are going home, Arabelle," he said firmly. "You are not safe here. When we reach Rivendell, we will meet with your mother, Charles, and Jillianna, and this elf-lord Elrond will send us home."

Arabelle frowned, but did not speak. She wanted to go home, really she did. But part of her said wait. Wait until she was sure the hobbits were out of danger. Until they were safe.

Erik sighed.

"It is late, dearheart," he whispered, standing. "Get ready for bed. I will be right back."

Arabelle nodded. She swallowed a yawn - it had been a long three days, and she _was _tired - and lay down on the other bed from the hobbits.

Erik returned about five minutes later with a glass of warm milk. It was laced with a little laudanum and meant to give Arabelle a night of sleep without dreams of what she'd been through. He would not have her suffer nightmares when he was there to prevent it.

"Here, darling," he offered, gently pressing the clay cup into her hands. "It will help you sleep."

Arabelle took the cup, and part of her knew what had been done; Arabelle had never had laudanum before, and Erik had wanted to spare her the sight of it being poured into a drink meant for her. Arabelle trusted him explicitly and would have drunk the milk anyway, but Erik's insecurities from the past still lingered, and some part of him would have wondered if seeing him put the sleeping powder in her drink might have damaged that trust.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered, smiling and lifting the cup to her lips.

Erik smiled as she slid into sleep moments later, and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, and bent to kiss her forehead.

"Sleep well, _ma belle petit ange,_" he breathed at her ear.

...

...

"I do hope nothing has happened to Gandalf," Samwise sighed as they left Bree the next morning. Arabelle agreed. Though she'd slept through the comotion of the night before, the hobbits had filled her in the next morning, and the news was not comforting.

Nine. There were nine of those things that had chased them the other day. Nine. They could sense the presence of the Ring, and were drawn to it. They would never stop following until the Ring was either destroyed, or reclaimed. They would not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in their way.

Arabelle shivered at the very thought.

A soft snort at her side made her turn, and she gently patted the pony's cheek. Strider and Erik had found the animal earlier that morning and purchased him from his owner. The poor thing looked half-starved, but proved sturdier than appearances suggested.

As a result, Arabelle took an instant liking to little Bill.

Pulling her pack around to her front, Arabelle dug through it for an apple, and offered it to the pony.

"There you are, boy," she whispered. "You deserve as much as you can eat."

By the time they were out of the village and into the woods, Arabelle had drifted back to walk with Erik.

"I am so glad you came, Papa," she said, beaming up at him. Erik smiled; even after so many years, her warmth and love for him still brought tears to his eyes.

"When I learned that Strider was going to meet you," he replied, gently touching her cheek with the very tips of his fingers, "I could not let him go alone. I could not continue to leave you to strangers."

Arabelle giggled.

"Hardly strangers by now, Papa," she smiled. Then she leaned in against his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I did miss you, Papa. Terribly."

Erik kissed her forehead, and led her on.

"As I missed you, dearheart. As I missed you."

...

...

"Merry, be still," Arabelle insisted gently. "Come here."

Pippin had tripped and twisted his ankle slightly. Merry felt incredibly guilty, believing it was his fault for having told his younger cousin that the path was safe. They had all made it across, but Pippin's foot had caught in a root in the twilight. Arabelle could have slapped herself; she had stepped right on that root herself without truoble. She'd thought it low enough to not cause harm, but Pippin had fallen, and Strider was now making sure there was nothing wrong with the little hobbit's ankle.

"Listen to me," Arabelle continued, taking Merry gently by the shoulders. "It is not your fault. Do you understand this? Go get ready to sleep."

Erik started at the change that came over Merry while Arabelle spoke. He saw the familiar glazed look come into his eyes, and saw Merry relax as though some unseen force had flipped a switch.

He was shocked, and wondered why he had never seen it before. Arabelle had his tone and his musicality, why not his ability to control? It was obviously unconscious, but it was there, and he determined to speak to her about it at some point.

Then again, he could be imagining it. Arabelle was - and had always been - a naturally calming presence, at least to her father. It could simply be her calm demeanor giving reassurance to Merry.

But it could just as easily be her voice. Erik did not know, and part of him did not _want _to know, because what if she _knew _what she was doing? What if she'd discovered that control at a young age, as Erik had, and merely kept it, and honed it in, secret?

All his thoughts of her voice were forced away when she turned to him, with a tired smile on hearing from Strider that there was indeed nothing wrong with Pippin's foot. No sprain, no fracture, no break. He was fine.

...

...

That night, Arabelle slept curled in her father's arms, absolutely relieved to not be away from him anymore. She had missed him terribly, prayed that they would meet up again soon.

They had, now, and Arabelle was sure that all wwould be well.

Erik remained awake for most of the night, just watching Arabelle sleep. He feared there would come a time soon when he could not be there for her, whether he wanted to be, or not. It frightened him. So he wanted to remember everything of her as best he could. She was so dear to him, he could not bear to lose her.

"She is a sweet child. Very clearly devoted to you."

Erik turned at Strider's soft whisper.

"She is my life," he replied. "She, her mother, and her brother. I live only for, and because of, them."

The Ranger smiled.

"You are a good man, Erik," he said softly. "You deserve her love."

Erik sighed and shook his head.

"I was not always so honorable," he murmured, clearly ending the conversation. Strider did not see because he'd turned away, but there were tears in Erik's eyes.

* * *

Chapter the 11th finished at last! I'd had such a great bit going before, and then it didn't save so I had to re-do it. I got frustrated, but eventually managed to get this out.

Review, please!


	12. Safe

I'm sorry, guys. I seriously could not think of how to get beyond this one point. Now I have.

I hope you enjoy.

Safe

* * *

When at last the Bruinen lay before them, Melnor sighed.

"We are but hours from our destination," he informed the others. "Just across the river and up that mountain. In the valley beyond lies Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond Half-Elven."

Christine smiled in relief. A week on horseback was not the most fun, and she was glad to reach the end of the journey. Gently, she reached up and touched the place on her dress beneath which the necklace lay, her thoughts turning to Erik and Arabelle. Melnor and Fargrin had managed to calm her on the subject of their safety at last with assurances that their leader Strider would surely have warned his charges of the danger.

As they rode, the trees closed in around the road, forming a tunnel of towering pines above their heads. In the treetops, small animals could be heard skittering around.

"What is Rivendell like?" Charles asked, looking up at the rangers.

Melnor smiled at him.

"It is a beautiful place, lad," he replied. "Magical. As all elven realms are. The entire valley is in a perpetual state of early autumn. You will love it, all of you."

Listening to Melnor's words, Jillianna tried to imagine what the valley of Rivendell must look like. She wondered what the elves would be like. The only 'elves' she'd ever heard of were those of bedtime stories about Santa Clause; small creatures who made toys for a living. But here, she was not sure what she would find.

As the group came around a bend in the road, the trees suddenly fell away to reveal a long, gradual slope down to the river. The grass before them grew long and soft, and it swayed in the gentle breeze. The river beyond shimmered where it rushed over stones. The flowing water sounded almost like humming in the travelers' ears.

Beyond the river, a wodded hill rose steeply. There was a clear break in the trees; a path that wound up the mountainside.

It was a beautiful, peaceful place. The silence was absolutely alive with buzzing, iridescent dragonflies.

"This is the Bruinen River," Melnor explained, gently nudging his horse forward. "And we have reached its southernmost ford. There is no way across below this ford until the Bruinen joins the Loudwater. Come. We are almost to Rivendell."

The water in the ford was cool and clear, and it splashed against the riders' ankles as the horses made their way across. The far bank was rockier than the one they'd left, but it was still beautiful. Beneath the trees, the sunlight fell on the ground in dappled patches, and the leaves were many shades of green. The bark on the trees was a soft, silvery brown. Bird chirped, hidden in the light shadows that played about the underbrush.

There was almost a music in the air, a distant song that was just on the edge of hearing. It seemed to grow as they rode along the path and up the mountain. The feel of magic seemed to increase with the music, and the higher they went, the more enchanted their surroundings. The leaves now were multicolored; glimmering shades of red, gold, green. All alive, all vibrant.

...

...

It was almost two hours before they reached the top of the mountain, but when they did, the view that met them was miraculous and ethereal in its beauty.

The trees were crowned with golden leaves, clothed in silver bark which held the faintest hint of gold. A waterfall fell sheer down the far wall of the valley, tumbling far down into the forest. As it fell, the water seemed to sparkle like diamonds.

But the true beauty was the compound, if such a magnificent, almost other-worldly, series of buildings could be called something so mundane. Stone as white as the snow - or was it wood; they could not tell, so elegant it was - that wove and intermingled in intricate designs up to a roof that could have belonged, Jillianna thought, in any fairy tale, on a castle.

A sort of soft, golden light seemed to permeate the valley, but it originated around the buildings. The song could be heard clearly, now, but it was wordless; it was Nature's song, which can be heard by all within elven settlements.

They were met just beyond the ridge by a party of elves, come to escort them down to the Last Homely House, down in the valley, where dwelt Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Rivendell.

The elves were beyond beautiful. They themselves seemed to glow, and were almost translucent. The party that had come to meet them all had flowing, corn-silk blond hair. They were tall, about Erik's height, Christine noted, with clear, ageless faces and vibrant eyes. Their ears were pointed.

Two elves, completely identical, stepped forward. Each wore detailed, elegant circlets of silver.

"Welcome to Rivendell, travelers," the first elf spoke. "I am Elrohir, and this is my brother, Elladan. We are the sons of Elrond, and were sent to guide you into the Imladris."

_"Mae govannen,_" the other, Elladan greeted with a formal bow. "Well met."

"You may dismount your horses," Elrohir offered. "They will be well cared for. If you will come with us..."

...

...

They were led down into the valley to the House, and there ushered into a great library. An elf stood there. He was different from the others, however. Though he did not exactly look it in his face, his eyes were far older, and his hair was black as night. His robes were more splendid, and his hair was woven with silver.

This elf turned a lordly, welcoming smile on the group.

"So you have come," he mused. "You are welcome here, Christine, Charles, and Jillianna. You, and your companions."

Silence, broken only by a whispery breath.

"H-how do you know our names?" Charles asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"I foresaw your coming, young boy," the elf answered. "I am Lord Elrond, and I welcome you to Imladris. Rivendell, in the common tongue."

Christine dropped into an automatic curtsey.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord," she murmured. "Thank you greatly."

Lord Elrond offered the same smile as before.

"You will find peace here," he assured. "You may go anywhere in this valley you wish. My sons will take you to your rooms. I am sure you are weary from such a journey."

"That we are, my lord," Christine replied. "And again, we thank you."

The two elves from before, Elladan and Elrohir, came forward to show the travelers to their rooms.

On the way, they passed courtyards lush with trees and plant-life, of all colors. Jillianna determined to spend the day roaming the Last Homely House tomorrow.

They were led up a grand flight of stairs, and down a corridor. Their escorts stopped outside a door, and Elrohir turned toward them.

"My lady, herein is the suite for you and the young ones." The elf opened the door, and Jillianna gasped.

The area beyond the door was more of a hall than anything else, but it was a beautiful one. The walls were carved and shaped so exquisitely, that it was difficult for the eye to focus on one section, one detail.

There were three doors off of the hall, and at the end, the space opened up onto a balcony. Entranced, Jillianna hurried forward to see, Christine and Charles following.

The view was incredible. As beautiful as the valley was looking down, it was twice as breath-taking from within.

The stone rail was cool and smooth under hand, and as Christine glanced at it, she knew Erik would love it. She might not know much about architecture, but Erik had taught her a little, and from that she could tell that the stone was good.

As her thoughts turned to her husband, Christine wondered if he had found Arabelle? Or had Gandalf whisked the girl and the hobbits away too soon? She could see it; Arabelle and the little ones would reach Bree at night, and Gandalf would be waiting for them. He would take them out of Bree, only hours before Strider and Erik arrived.

But she could also see the reunion between father and child. Erik would reveal himself at the inn Gandalf had told Frodo to go to, and Arabelle would run to his arms.

Christine could not have known how right that second image was.

Elladan showed the Rangers to a similar suite across the hall while they looked around. The bedrooms, Christine thought, were like nothing she'd ever seen. Each was so elegant and ethereal in its structure, they could have belonged in heaven.

...

...

Melnor and the other Rangers left with the dawn the next morning. They bid a fond farewell to Christine, Charles, and Jillianna before they set out up the westward side of the valley.

"We will keep a weather eye for your friends," Fargrin promised as he mounted his horse. "And I pray wemeet again in safer times."

"May your road bear you always unto friendly lands, and under friendly skies," Aidan smiled from his saddle.

And then they rode away, leaving Christine and the other two standing there, watching as the Rangers and their horses disappeared around a bend in the path.

When the Rangers could no longer be seen, Christine turned, and put a hand on Jillianna's and Charles's shoulders.

"Come inside," she whispered.

...

...

Jillianna did not stay long in her room. She wanted to wander, to explore every inch of this pleasant place. But her mind was still full of their Ranger friends' departure.

And of Arabelle. Jillianna hoped dearly that her friend was safe.

She was out on a balcony, after a good hour of just walking around. Jillianna was completely alone with thoughts of meetings and partings, and she began to sing softly to herself.

_"May the road rise to meet you.  
May the wind, be always at your back.  
May the sun shine down upon your face.  
May the rain fall soft upon your fields._

_And until we meet again,  
until we meet again,  
may you live well in  
the heart of your home.  
Until we meet again._

_May you live well in  
the heart of your home,  
until we meet,  
again."_

She didn't quite realize it (she'd gotten completely turned around, she'd gone down so many passages), but by the end of her song, Jillianna was looking up at the western sky. She felt tears welling in her eyes as she thought of her friend, out there somewhere, but she blinked them back, and started off for her room.

Elrohir, Christine and Charles met her just outside the door to the suite.

"Jillianna, there you are," Christine smiled. "Come, Elrohir is going to bring us to breakfast."

Jillianna smiled slightly. She _was _hungry, after all...

...

...

The dinning hall was enormous. The ceilings were high and as intricate here as in the rest of the building.

But it was not the architecture that made the new-comers smile.

Christine was the first of the three to see him, sitting on several cusions so that his small figure could reach the table. It was Bilbo.

"It _is _good to see a familiar face," Christine told him as they ate with the elves. "Gandalf told us you had meant to come here."

Bilbo returned the woman's smile.

"Yes. And I am glad to see you all safe," he agreed. "But where are the others? Your daughter, and Erik? Is Frodo here?"

"Arabelle went with Frodo and Stham," Jillianna replied. "And Mr. Desthtler left with Sthtrider to meet them in Bree. I do hope they're all right."

Bilbo looked confused.

"Why would they not be?"

Charles pipped up quick.

"It's that ring that Frodo has," he answered. "The Rangers who brought us here said it was evil, and that it would attract enemies."

"Charles..." Christine breathed. The look on Bilbo's face was clearly concern. "I'm sure they're fine," she assured. "Strider knows about that ring; he will protect Frodo and the others."

Bilbo nodded.

"Yes," he sighed, sounding and looking faraway. "I know old Strider quite well. If anyone can protect them, it is he."

"Well spoken, Bilbo," Elrond smiled from the head of the table. "For now, it is enough that you all have reached Rivendell safely. Your friends will follow soon enough."

Christine sent up a silent prayer that the elf-lord was right.

* * *

And that's another chapter down. Yay!


	13. Bloody Marshes

Little note for this chapter; the song 'Non C'e Piu' belongs, I would assume, to Celtic Woman. I don't know how old it is, but surely the late 1800s wouldn't be too early.

Bloody Marshes

* * *

Arabelle let out a growl of frustration, and smacked at yet another mosquito.

"Damned things," she grumbled, swinging her hand at several more that fluttered about her face.

"What do they eat," Merry groaned, "when they can't get hobbit?"

Behind him, and in front of Arabelle, Pippin tripped, falling face first into the muddy marsh. He pushed himself up onto his knees, and shook his head. Arabelle bent and offered her hand to help him up.

They were making slow going through the Midgewater Marshes. It was difficult, with the depth of the pools. In some places, it was up to the hobbits' waists, with sucking, black muck that refused to let them go.

The marsh was not their only problem; it was raining, and bitterly cold. And although Arabelle and Erik had no real problem keeping up with Strider's pace, the hobbits, especially Frodo and Pippin, who were the smallest, despite Frodo being eldest, were finding it difficult. Darkness was approaching, too. It would be only too easy for any one of their group to get lost now.

Strider called a halt when they reached a patch of drier ground, and everyone set about making camp.

Arabelle gathered stones to ring their fire, traipsing back and forth across the area to find them. Once she'd gotten a small pile ready in the center of the ground, she began to form them into a circle.

Erik smiled at Arabelle's willingness to help, and began picking up sticks and bits of wood to light the fire. Strider watched the father and daughter interact for a while before moving off to hunt down dinner for the group.

"Is there anything we can do?" Frodo asked, finished laying out his bedroll. Arabelle shook her head, and struck a piece of flint against a small rock.

"No, Frodo, I think Papa and I are set," she replied. "Thank you, though."

As Arabelle stacked the wood into a triangle, she began humming absently. As usual, that humming became soft, unconscious singing.

_"Onda blu, dove vai,  
Non lo chiedero,  
Cio che tu, perderai,  
Non lo cerchero._

_Cerchi di, sfociare,  
Corri sempre giu,  
Quando? trovi il mare,  
Fiume non c'e piu._

_Wave of blue, long ago,  
Nothing but a stream,  
Rushing through, mountain dew,  
To the sea's cold gleam.  
Nothing but a stream,  
Towards the ocean dream._

_Nata dai, cielo,  
Day by day, deeper now.  
Al di la, per quel sogno,  
Sempre piu._

_Al di la delle colline,  
Scorri oltre il confine,  
Fiume non? c'e piu._

_Rolling wave, calling now,  
Voices clear and pure.  
Find the way, home somehow,  
Find the way, for sure._

_Quadno? trovi il mare,-  
Scorri sempre giu,  
Finche trovi il mare,  
Finche non sei piu._

_Wave of green,  
Wave of blue,  
Flowing home..._

_Non sei piu..."_

"That was pretty."

Jumping, Arabelle turned to find that the others had been listening. Flushing scarlet, she looked away, and murmured a quiet thank you.

"What's it mean?" Pippin asked. Arabelle shrugged.

"I- I'm not sure," she replied. "I found it in the library back home in Bristol."

"It's still very pretty, Arabelle," Sam repeated, and Arabelle smiled.

"Thank you, Samwise," she whispered.

Strider returned not long afterward, a large deer carcass over his shoulders. It had never quite connected with Arabelle; the meat she ate, and the life it came from. Oh, she knew well that the food her mother bought was killed, but to see it made her cringe in sympathy for the pretty creature.

When Strider began to slice it open, she turned away, and worked on setting up her bed roll. Once finished, she simply sat there, staring away over the marsh.

Erik understood at once, the image of Misty the mouse flickering in his mind. He stood, and went to sit beside her, wrapping her in his arms. After a moment, the two returned to the fire, waiting patiently as everyone else for dinner.

"It smells wonderful," Arabelle sighed as the stew Sam had thrown together with vegetables and the dear meat simmered.

"Sam is quite a good cook," Frodo agreed, smiling at the gardener.

...

...

Later that night, Arabelle drifted toward consciousness when a soft singing entered herd ream. She blinked awake, listening to find that it was Strider who sang. It was a pretty song, in a foreign language. Arabelle could only assume it to be elvish, maybe. The song was beautiful, and yet, there was something sad and heartbreaking about it, a sort of tragic loss that could never be replaced.

"Who is she," she heard Frodo ask, "this woman you sing of?"

Strider was silent for a moment, and Arabelle sensed something deeper in his hesitation.

"'tis the Lay of Luthien," the Ranger explained. "An elf maiden, who gave her love Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?" Frodo questioned softly, and there was that in his voice which suggested he already knew the answer to that question.

Again, Strider hesitated, then turned to Frodo.

"She died," he replied at last. "Get some sleep, Frodo. It's late."

Soon, Arabelle could hear Frodo's breathing level out and deepen with sleep. Knowing there was no reason for her to still be awake herself, the girl closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to fly away, and her mind to wander off into dreams.

...

...

The next day dawned cold and raw. A cold, misty rain seeped through every layer they wore, and by midday, the entire group was soaked and miserable.

Arabelle kept her eyes sharp on the hobbits. Their small height made it more difficult for them to get through the marshes, and it seemed Pippin, smallest of all, was the wetest.

And even though she knew full well that each one of the hobbits was fully capable of taking care of themselves, she felt increasingly protective of them. The longer they were out here, away from the bright, cheerful peace of the Shire, the stronger the feeling of dread that came over her. There was something coming; something really bad about to happen. It frightened her to no end.

But soon, she had other things to worry about. Some time after noon, Erik's foot set down on a loose stone that slid when he put weight on it, twisting his ankle into the hole beneath. With a cry of surprise, he splashed into the water.

"_Papa!_"

Erik sat, shaking water from his hair as he tried to pull his ankle from the sucking marsh. The movement sent a flare of pain up his leg, and he cursed mentally, but he managed to get free, and stand.

"It's nothing," he lied, motioning for Arabelle to go on. Strider took a step toward Erik in concern.

"Are you certain, my friend?" the Ranger asked. "Perhaps I ought to look at it?"

Erik shook his head.

"I am all right," he assured, picking up pace and forcing his ankle to hold his weight without a limp. It hurt - dear God, it hurt - but it seemed to him that holding their company up here, in these marshes, was not only an uncomfortable, miserable idea, it was dangerous. He could not see anything moving, nor hear anything, but since Bree, Erik had felt some presence, watching from a distance, waiting for the perfect moment to close in.

They were being followed. And likely by those Nazgul things. Erik surpressed a shudder at the thought of such creatures.

Arabelle saw the shiver, and, mistaking its cause for something far more mundane, looked up at him with worried eyes.

"Papa?" she breathed, reaching from beneath her cloak to take his hand. "Are you truly all right?"

Erik tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I am, dear-heart," he replied. "Nothing to worry about."

He was lying to her. Something was wrong, and she could not let anything happen to her father.

"Papa..."

"It truly is nothing, 'belle," Erik insisted. "Just an old man worrying over nothing."

There was something in Erik's eyes, and the way he glanced around at the distant hills was a clear tell.

"It's those things, isn't it, Papa?" Arabelle demanded softly. "Those Nazgul... They will never leave us alone..."

"Arabelle! Erik! Do not stop!"

Father and daughter both blinked in surprise to find they'd fallen behind. With a glance at one another, they hurried to catch up.

"You must not fall behind," Strider admonished. "This is a dangerous place, in dangerous times."

Erik followed after the Ranger, but Arabelle hesitated a moment. If her father, too, was worried, then there truly was cause for concern.

"We know," she whispered, resuming walking along behind the others.

_The sooner we leave these dreadful swamps, the better, _she told herself, drawing her cloak tightly around herself.

...

...

When they passed the last quagmire, Arabelle felt like cheering. The Midgewater safely behind them, she felt she could look to the lands ahead without worry.

She was wrong.

The lands ahead may have been forested and green, but they were wild, and a feeling of doom and danger seeped out from the trees.

Something was coming. Something bad, and it was coming fast upon them.

* * *

Something of a cliffhanger, haha!

Erik; Not again, you vile little -

Ah ah ah, Erik. Remember. You kill me, you're stuck and the story will never finish.

Erik; ...

Good boy. Review, please!


	14. Amon Sul

And here's chapter 14! Once more, I must apologize for the delay, but I couldn't think of anything, and I couldn't bring myself to force it out. Any piece of writing deserves better than that from its author. But at last, more came to me, so here it is.

Amon Sul

* * *

Erik was nervous. That morning, a sense of doom had come over him. Something was approaching - something bad. He dreaded when they would break from what little cover remained to them. At least here, there were stunty trees and coarse brambles to hide behind if necessary.

And everything was quiet. Too quiet. There was no sound, neither bird nor beast, save their own footsteps. And there had been no sign of any other living thing since the flies in the marshes. It really was unnerving.

Ahead of him, Arabelle walked with the hobbits; it was her turn to lead Bill the pony.

"You seem on edge, Bill," she whispered. The pony nickered in reply. "Can you feel the danger, dear boy? Is that why you are so nervous? Well, you needn't worry, lovely Bill. Samwise would never let anything happen to you, and neither will I."

Smiling, Arabelle gently stroked Bill's soft muzzle.

"You are a good boy," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the pony's cheek. Bill turned his head to nudge her shoulder, nickering quietly. Arabelle laughed and hugged the pony's neck.

"He does seem to like you, Arabelle," Sam remarked, glancing up approvingly at the girl. Arabelle smiled down at him.

"Well, I like him," she replied. "He's a very sweet pony, our Bill." Arabelle patted the pony's shoulder affectionately and ruffled his forelock. Bill blinked lazily.

It was a cold morning; a light snow had fallen in the night, and remained in patches on the ground. Soon enough, Merry and Pippin began a halt, and started rifling through Bill's packs to get second breakfast ready. Arabelle rolled her eyes fondly.

"Gentlemen, Arabelle, we do not stop until nightfall!" Strider scolded from a few yards up the hill.

"What about breakfast?" Pippin demanded. Arabelle forced down a giggle.

_Oh, Pippin..._

"You've already had it," Strider said, slightly confused and clearly impatient to get going.

"Had _one, _yes," Pippin replied. "But what about _second _breakfast?"

The Ranger shook his head and turned away, continuing with their march.

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip," Merry sighed, picking up pace. Pippin looked horrified.

"What about elevensies?" he gasped. "Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about then, doesn't he?"

Merry shook his head.

"I wouldn't count on it."

Suddenly, an apple fell back from above, and Merry caught it last-second, handing it to Pippin and clapping him on the shoulder. A second fruit came sailing down and clocked Pippin upside the head. He managed to catch it, and looked up at the sky in confusion. Arabelle laughed.

"Come along, Pippin," she smiled. "You can eat when we stop next."

Pippin's face fell.

"But that's not till dark!" he protested. Arabelle sighed, unable to hold back a snicker.

Behind them, Erik chuckled. At least for the moment, he could take his mind off of the sense of impending doom that was descending as the day went on. Their little party was not alone out here. Something was following them, and whatever it was was closing in, fast. They were not safe in the open. They were far from safe.

As the day wore on, they left even low bushes behind them, and were out in completely open fields. There was no cover, only rough land and rocky outcroppings all around them. In the middle distance there was a line of hills.

"Do you see those hills?" Strider asked as they crested one small, rocky rise. "Those are the Weather Hills. We will reach them by tonight."

The Weather Hills looked bleak, and cold. There was no feeling of life to them; they were horribly, fatally, empty. Arabelle shivered.

...

...

"The Weather Hills were once part of the long-ago kingdom of Arnor," Strider explained as the group walked. "In the Elder Days, there were two kingdoms of the Men of Numenor on Middle Earth; Gondor in the south, and Arnor in the north. Today, only Gondor remains."

"What happened to Arnor?" Pippin asked innocently, head tilted to one side as he looked up at Strider.

The Ranger glanced at the little hobbit, then away, and sighed.

"It was overrun by darkness and corruption," he replied quietly. "The Nazgul came there, and the kingdom fell. Only ruins are left."

As they passed one such ruin on a hill, Erik felt, more than saw, a presence in the ruins. He shook his head, but the sensation did not go. It felt as though eyes were watching them, and no matter how he tried, he found he could not shake the sense that something terrible was coming.

Before him, Arabelle still walked with the hobbits. It was clear to anyone who knew her well, that she was on edge. To the hobbits, who did not know her half so well as her father did, she seemed calm, unaware that anything was wrong. She was smiling and talking freely with Pippin, telling the bouncy little hobbit stories about Bristol.

"... I had a dog, named Phantom," she was saying. "A German Shepherd. A more loyal, compassionate animal you will never meet. He was a good friend."

"What happened to him?" Pippin asked, looking intently up at her. Arabelle's eyes grew faraway, and she smiled sadly.

"He grew old," she replied softly. "And like all things, he died."

Pippin looked surprised, but did not speak. Arabelle saw that he regretted asking, and she smiled sweetly.

"There is no cause to be upset, Pippin," she whispered. "He was old, and I had known the time would come. Besides, he has gone to a place where we will all meet again, one day."

"Where - "

"Death, Pip," Merry interjected, rolling his eyes fondly.

Pippin's mouth formed a little 'o', and he was silent, but not subdued; a butterfly flew by, and the youngest hobbit was not the only one whose eyes followed its path.

Arabelle's head turned as she marked the butterfly's jerky flight. It flittered past her face and around Bill for a moment, before haphazardly winging away back westward. Arabelle smiled as she watched it, and a faint laugh just broke the surface before she returned to herself and the present moment.

...

...

The day had been clear and cool, but now as evening came closer, it became crisp, and cold, even. Arabelle was glad that they were camping in a little dell, rather than _on _a hill.

Strider halted just outside the little dip, and looked up at the hill to the left, on which there stood a ruined tower. He pointed at it, and looked back at the others.

"That was once a great watchtower," he explained. "Aman Sul, Weathertop. We shall rest here for tonight."

Arabelle slid her pack off of her shoulders, biting back a chuckle at Pippin's overly dramatic relief at removing his pack. As she looked around the little dip, she found it was actually rather large. Indeed, her whole house would fit in this glen. It was actually a very pretty little place. The fading sunlight still managed to reach down in dappled patches, and as a mist was settling in, the patches of light were almost tangible whisps to chase after. There was a great stone in the center of the glen, and by it stood a tall, stately tree.

In the light of early evening, it was beautiful.

Strider took Frodo and Arabelle up to the actual tower to explore and see the land around their current camp.

The age and mystery of the place could be felt so strongly that Arabelle, wadering around the base of the ruins, missed almost all of the conversation going on between the Ranger and the hobbit.

"...Rivendell?"

"We have still a fortnight to go," Strider replied.

A fortnight. Another two weeks before she would see Jillianna, her mother, her brother again. Another two weeks before there was even a possibility of going home. She sighed. While she _did _love what she'd seen of Middle Earth, and the dear friends she'd made here, she still, in the end, wanted to go home. There were people who would wonder and worry about where she and the others had gone. And, much as she felt she could be at least content here, her life was back in Bristol, in her own world.

"Arabelle, _down!_" Strider hissed, already lowered. Arabelle threw herself down, and crawled over to where he and Frodo lay.

"What is it?" she asked, but a sudden feeling of now-familiar dread gave her her answer.

Rather than risk voicing his answer, Strider pointed down over the west side of the hill. Arabelle craned her neck forward to see, and fought back a scream, yanking her head away from the opening in the ruined wall.

"They've followed us?" she breathed. "All this way? They really never will give up, will they?"

Strider shook his head.

"No," he replied. "Not until the Ring is destroyed, or reclaimed."

Horror descended over Arabelle. For the Ring to be reclaimed, it would mean the deaths of all their company. All the hobbits, Strider, her papa, and she herself. Dead. She shivered.

"Come," Strider whispered. "Let us rejoin the others. Say nothing of what we have seen, however. I do not wish to instigate a panic."

Arabelle and Frodo nodded, and together the three returned to the camp.

Once there, Arabelle sat close at Erik's side, and did not move as her father wrapped one long, thin arm around her shoulders. The darkness of the night, combined with the black figure in the distance had changed the little dell; where it had looked almost enchanted in the daylight, in the dark it appeared sinister and threatening. Even within the circle of firelight, Arabelle did not feel safe.

She would have bet money that there were more of those Riders about, and if they did attack, it would be tonight.

...

...

The storm of silent fear broke as Strider finished his song about an elf-maiden, Luthien, and her human lover, Beren. Sam and Merry had wandered away during Strider's song, and now they came hurtling back, eyes wid and wild with fear.

They had _seen _five black figures making their way up the side of the dell toward them.

"I dursn't go outside this dell for any money," Sam said, his voice wavering as he looked away westward.

Strider cursed on hearing their report, and began taking burning sticks from the fire. He pressed one on each of the others, and took one up himself.

"Stay together," he ordered. "Keep your backs to the fire. And _do not fight alone!"_

Arabelle trembled where she stood. With sweaty fingers, she clutched her sword hilt in a death grip. She had no idea what she would do when the attack began, but she knew she had to do _something. _She was not going to run and hide and let her friends do all the fighting themselves.

As they waited, Pippin suddenly cried out, pointing to the east. Over the ridge of the dell came the _other _four Wraiths. They were surrounded.

"_Baiser, fils de pute..." _Erik breathed, eyes widening. This was the first he'd ever seen of these creatures, and now he knew what Arabelle must have felt when she first saw that there was nothing in the hoods - the robes empty and blank, and yet, filled with an evil so pure and powerful.

Suddenly, one of the five stopped. It held out a sword in one hand, and a dagger in the other. Both were terribly jagged and rusted - horrible to look at. All the other Black Riders stopped when this one did. It was taller than the others, and clearly the leader.

The leader stepped slowly forward, and pointed both sword and knife at the group.

With a shudder, Arabelle realized that it was after Frodo. These things knew which one of them had the Ring, and they were going to kill its bearer - and all his companions - to get to it, if need be. She could not let that happen.

Something primal in her, beyond her own understanding, caused her to lash out the moment the nine Riders came close enough, and she swung her sword fiercely. It occurred to her that if she could get just this one away, then the others would have one less terror to deal with tonight.

Barely had she led it outside the dell than her entire plan went wrong. She got in too close on one swing, the Wraith blocked her sword, and grabbed her wrist. A cold, icy fire suddenly shot up and down her left arm, originating from that horrible touch as it twisted her arm. With a cry of pain, she dropped her sword, and swung her torch.

Again, the Wraith grabbed the stick just above Arabelle's hand, and used it to shove her back, ripping the torch - and her last defense - from her hand. Arabelle fell back, landing on hands and knees before a great tree, the Black Rider bearing down on her.

She was trapped.

And suddenly, in between her and the Wraith, another shadow rose; tall and terrible with fury, but wholly familiar. Her father. Her rescuer.

Erik fought like one possessed. He returned the Black Rider's strikes, blow for blow, slashing with a deadly, wrathful precision. He was beyond angry. How dare this thing attack Arabelle. How dare it threaten that which was his - that which he loved?

Rage overpowered all but the tiniest corner of his being, and that one tiny corner used that defensive fury to his advantage, to fuel his thrusts and slashes.

He was actually gaining ground over the Wraith. At first. Then he stumbled.

The momentary stall in movement and adrenaline was just enough for the pain to strike. It felt as though his ribcage imploded, stabbing inward and piercing his heart with shards of iron. A vice-like pressure accompanied the pain, and his breath caught in his throat, choking him.

Behind him, Arabelle saw the stumble, and the odd, halting attempt to catch his balance. She saw her father sway, heard him gasp in pain.

She screamed when it hit her.

But what could she do? To move would be to risk her own death; her left arm still burned like ice where the Black Rider had touched her, and her fingers were nearly immobile. Arabelle had no choice but to watch her father struggle and falter as his own body betrayed him.

He was failing quickly. More and more of his strikes went wildly out of control, and each time the Wraith swung its sword, the blade came closer to striking home. And help would not come in time. Strider still had the other eight Riders to take care of back in the dell. It had been a mistake, Arabelle saw that clearly now, to try and lead this one away.

And suddenly, Erik was disarmed and thrown on the ground. With another cry of terror, Arabelle scrambled to his side, and clutched at his shoulders. Erik's right hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt over his heart, and he wheezed.

"Papa, get up!" Arabelle gasped. "Papa, we cannot stay like this - we must get back to the others - _get up, Papa, get up!"_

Above them, the Black Rider loomed. Arabelle, stretched herself across Erik, and closed her eyes. She sucked in a breath, and waited for that final, split-second of pain as the sword stabbed into them both.

* * *

Ha-_Ha! _Cliff-hanger. Please don't hate me, I've already got a good chunk of the next chapter in the works.

Erik; I swear to God, woman, if you hurt my daughter, I -

Arabelle; Where's that fricking flaming bat of doom when you need it? Hurt my father and I'll -

Easy! Look, if it makes you guys feel any better, you're not going to die here.

Erik; What is that supposed - Oh, God, she's going to - Arabelle, let me go, I'll kill her!

Arabelle; But, Papa, if you do that, we can't go home. Ever! (does not let go of Erik)

Guys, I promise, no one is going to die, so please, don't come after me. I swear, they live.

Review, please?

Oh, and I can't translate the French. It's really dirty. Basically, Erik is realizing just how screwed they are.


	15. A Long Way to Go

See? I promised they wouldn't die, and they won't. Arabelle and Erik will be in the rest of this story, I swear.

On another note, who else absolutely despises week long power-outages?

But, I digress.

And now, on to the chapter that will hopefully save my rear end.

A Long Way to Go

* * *

_Above them, the Black Rider loomed. Arabelle, stretched herself across Erik, and closed her eyes. She sucked in a breath, and waited for that final, split-second of pain as the sword stabbed into them both._

It never came. She heard the thumping of approaching feet, heard whooshing that reminded her of a roaring fire, and then there were hands, gentle, but rough, taking her by her shoulders, sitting her up and inspecting her.

"Where are you -"

"_It's Papa!" _she hissed, pushing Strider away and reaching for Erik. "Papa, look at me. Dear God, _look at me!" _Gold eyes struggled open and fixed on Arabelle, who smiled weakly through tears. "Strider has saved us." Arabelle explained slowly. "We must get back to camp, now. Come on, Papa, I'll help -"

Erik shook his head weakly. He couldn't move. His whole body was far too numb. He tried to speak, and could barely mouth the words 'I can't'. That restarted Arabelle's fear and concern. It was a very bad attack, then, if he could not even speak.

"What's the matter with him?" Pippin asked in a high, frightened voice. "He's not been hurt..."

Arabelle shook her head.

"He has," she corrected. "Not by that, _thing, _no. It's his heart, Pippin. He has medicine in his bag a -"

As Arabelle looked at the others, a new terror descended. Merry, Pippin, Sam, Strider.

"Frodo!" she cried, whipping about desperately. "Where is Frodo?"

"He's hurt," Sam replied, sounding scared. "That Black Rider with the knife stabbed him."

Arabelle shook her head. This could not be happening. How could everything have gone so _wrong? _Erik having an attack, Frodo wounded – how much worse would this adventure get? What other horrors would they come across on this attempt to return home?

She turned back to her father, but already, Strider was lifting him into his arms. Though the two men were very close in height, Erik weighed little more than his daughter. Free to hurry now, Arabelle ran ahead to camp to get her father's medicine.

She skidded onto her knees before Erik's back, and rummaged desperately through its contents, coming up with the hawthorn as Strider approached with Erik, Sam, Merry, and Pippin in tow.

It was not until after she'd seen that her papa had gotten his medicine, and made sure he would be alright, that Arabelle had a moment to think of Frodo. She went immediately to where Strider was bent over him, and looked up at the Ranger, then the others.

Pippin was absolutely terrified. He was trembling, and wide-eyed, staring in horror at Frodo. Merry, who was not much better off, was clutching Pippin's hand, his eyes flickering between Frodo and Strider. Frodo was apparently very unconscious. He lay still as stone and did not move. Arabelle shivered at how pale he seemed. Indeed, the only sign that he still lived was the slow, shallow, rise and fall of his chest.

But it was Sam's expression that worried her the most. He was looking at Strider with open suspicion and anger. With a jolt, she realized that Samwise now believed Strider to be their enemy. Dissension in their group now could prove fatal, especially if the others did not trust their guide.

"Stay here," Strider ordered, standing up suddenly. "I will return. Get some water heated, and be ready."

Arabelle watched with concern as Strider moved off out of the reach of the firelight. Somehow, she could feel that the Black Riders were not around. They had attacked, and now they were gone. There was no ever-present sense of doom now, only horror at what had happened, and fear for those who had been hurt.

Still, however, she was worried.

For a few moments, there was absolute silence as the hobbits looked at one another. Arabelle slipped away back to where Erik lay, unable to look at Frodo any longer. Some part of her knew it was ridiculous, but she blamed herself. She had sworn to herself that she would let no harm come to the hobbits, and she'd failed abysmally thus far. Time after time, when trouble found them, she either got separated from them, or someone grabbed one of the hobbits, or one was injured.

And now, her papa was ill again. She really ought to have thought about what she was doing when she tried to take on that Wraith alone. She should have seen that she would get into trouble and need a rescuer, and she should have known that rescuer would be her father. And it should have occurred to her that the fear and concern and anger, coupled with the physical exertion, would be too much for him. Even if he did not have heart problems, Erik was far from young, and Arabelle knew it.

She ought never to have done what she did. It was reckless, and dangerous. If it weren't for Strider, both she, and Erik, would have died.

Erik was asleep, now. He was always so drained and weak after an attack. Arabelle sat silent at his side, tears running down her face. She had failed Frodo, she had caused her father to have an attack. Was there _nothing _she could do right? For the love of Heaven, she did not even know how to properly defend herself!

Well, things would be different from now on. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened to Frodo and Erik, but she _could _remedy her inability to fight. The next chance she got, she would insist Strider teach her to use her sword.

For now, however, she turned her attention to the other hobbits. Pippin was still shaking, and though Merry was trying to comfort him, it was not enough; he, too, was terrified. And so was Sam, sitting by Frodo's head, holding his hand and whispering quietly.

"Merry, Pippin, Sam," Arabelle whispered, sitting down next to them and opening her arms. "Come here."

The four friends sat huddled between their injured companions for some time, waiting together. Arabelle held the hobbits close, as much for her comfort as for theirs. She needed to know that at least some of her friends were all right.

They sat together in the dark silence for over an hour, huddled between their wounded, close to the fire. The silence was deafening, and Arabelle wished that Strider would return.

She started when a twig crunched, and everyone was on their feet at once. Sam took a stance between Frodo and this unknown newcomer, and Arabelle, Merry, and Pippin stood beside him, with Arabelle closest to her father.

It was only Strider, and Arabelle relaxed at the sight of him. Pippin was the next to calm, followed by Merry, but Sam remained standing. Arabelle reached over and squeezed his hand gently, though there was a mildly reprimanding edge in her eyes.

"I am not a Black Rider, Sam," Strider said firmly, as he knelt by Frodo. There was something in his hands. "Nor am I in league with them."

Strider bent down beside Frodo, and motioned for the hot water that Arabelle had completely missed. Pippin brought the steaming pot to the Ranger, and Strider crushed whatever was in his hands before sprinkling it into the water.

Immediately a very light, delicate scent filled the area. As Arabelle breathed, she felt her head clear and her concerns began to sort themselves out. She felt lighter, happier... safer. It was a beautiful feeling.

Almost at once, Frodo began to stir. The little Ringbearer's dark eyelashes fluttered, and then two bright blue irises were flickering from one face to another as Arabelle, Strider, and the other hobbits looked down at him.

"Frodo, you must listen to me, now," Strider said at once, calling Frodo's attention. "How do you feel?"

Frodo shivered convulsively for a moment, and a murmur that sounded very much like 'cold,' escaped the hobbit's lips. Arabelle scrambled back to her pack and dug out an extra blanket, laying it gently over his small body.

For a moment, Frodo just looked around at his friends, then confusion entered his eyes, and he looked to Arabelle.

"Where's... Mr. Destler?" he asked quietly.

Arabelle realized that the calmness of her reaction was definitely influenced by whatever plant it was that Strider had placed in the water. Very gently, she tucked the corners of the blanket around Frodo's shoulders, and smiled sadly.

"He'll be alright, Frodo," she whispered, an assurance in her voice the origins of which she did not know. "You should rest."

Arabelle sat back, and sighed. She had no idea what would happen next, or where they would go. Hopefully, their aim would still be Rivendell, but what if Strider took them someplace else because Frodo was wounded? Would she and her father ever get back to the others?

At last, she was beginning to see that being here was a mistake. If this was the cost - friends wounded, family split, her father weak and hurt - of staying, she wanted little more to do with Middle Earth. Nothing, nothing at all, was worth risking the loss of her papa.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she sniffed, feeling very young, and very frightened. But then, so quiet she'd have missed it if she hadn't had her father's impecable hearing, she heard a soft groan.

Arabelle turned to see Erik starting to stir. With a hopeful little grin, she scrambled over to his side, and snatched his hand in hers.

"Papa?" she whispered, her voice anxious and concerned. The sooner he awoke after an attack, the better. "Papa, look at me?"

Again, golden eyes flickered open and focused weakly on Arabelle, and Erik's entire frame sagged just a bit with relief. She was safe. He hadn't failed her, after all. When he'd seen her struggling against that Wraith, his entire world ground to a halt. It had been instinct and adrenaline alone that had carried him as far as he'd gotten. Some part of Erik had known it would be too much strain, but he could not let Arabelle come to harm. Once upon a time, he'd sworn he would always be there for her. He had no intentions of breaking that promise now.

He tried to speak, but at first nothing would come out. At last, he managed to whisper her name, and the smile that formed on her face, she'd surely inherited from her mother.

"I'm all right, Papa," she replied, holding his hand tightly. "I'm all right."

Erik smiled faintly. He felt tired and his eyes closed of their own accord.

Seeing him asleep again, Arabelle sighed, and her attention drifted back to Strider's voice, talking about leaving.

"We cannot stay here now," the Ranger was saying. "At first light, we'll move on."

Arabelle frowned. She was about to tell Strider that Erik would not be able to travel by morning, but as she looked at his stance, and into his eyes, she understood. If they remained, they would be attacked again.

That notion sent a cold sliver of dread through her stomach, even as the sun began to rise and warm the area.

In the gray twilight that was beginning to fade into morning, the dagger that the Wraith had held, that had wounded Frodo, was revealed.

A piece was missing off of the end.

This realization seemed to make Strider all the more anxious, and he began to gather his things.

"Get packed," he barked, his voice frighteningly urgent. "We must leave here, and make as much time as possible."

Arabelle turned and scrambled to her bedroll, rolling it up and tying it to her bag. Then she turned back, and gently shook Erik's shoulders, calling to him.

"Papa, wake up now," she whispered. "Strider says that we must move on. We are not safe here anymore."

...

...

They were forced to stop early that afternoon because the travel was too rough on Frodo and Erik. On Bill, the little hobbit was becoming more and more unsteady and delirious; even with support from one side from Strider, his falling off and hurting himself was becoming more and more likely. And even though Erik leaned heavily on Arabelle, it was still a painful strain. The soothing effects of the plant, which Strider had called Athelas, had long ago worn away.

The moment Arabelle had seen that her father was settled, and had helped Sam and the others with Frodo, she went to where Strider was standing, looking away eastward.

"I want to learn to fight," she said simply, looking up at the Ranger with firm eyes. "I've failed the hobbits too many times, and I _will not _fail again. Teach me to fight."

There was steel beneath the gold of her eyes, and for the first time, Strider saw beyond the thin, willowy figure and pale skin. He saw just how firm and strong she could be, and he smiled. Under any normal circumstances, he would have insisted she start with nothing, learn the forms before she was allowed even a wooden trainer, but these were not normal circumstances. If she did not learn how to fight, and quickly, the girl would not last long, and Strider had a sneaking suspicion that if Arabelle did not survive, neither would her father.

"Very well," he decided. "Draw your sword, and I shall teach you."

* * *

And that's the next chapter. The group may be down two, but soon they'll be up one. Like her father, Arabelle is a fast learner. I wonder how she'll take to swordplay?

Review, please!


	16. The Road to Rivendell Part 3

I appologize for the long delay. I couldn't think of much of anything, and the little job i've got now, combined with college in the evenings, and acting troop rehearsals on weekends, kind of kills much of my freedom. And then my computer crapped out, so I've been sharing Mom's.

The Road to Rivendell, Part 3

* * *

Arabelle was a quick study, Strider discovered. She'd only been learning for a few days, but already, she showed the promise of being a talented master of the sword one day.

And she was unyeilding with herself over her training. Sometimes, Strider would wake in the night to find Arabelle practicing the strikes and the blocks. She was not the best at parrying, but still, she was coming along faster than many others the Ranger had trained before.

Currently, she was perhaps ten feet from the camp, swinging her sword at invisible enemies, striking and blocking. Her thoughts were on her father all the time now. On her father, and on Frodo. She'd gotten the one hurt, and utterly failed to protect the other.

_I won't fail them, _Arabelle thought fiercely, turning her frustration on a nearby tree stump. _Not again. _Never_ again.._

With a snarl, she thrust her sword forward, stabbing into the stump. The sword was not buried far, but it took a tug to remove, and afterward, Arabelle stood there, breathing heavy, and frowning darkly. Let those wretched Wraiths attack again; she'd find some way to destroy them. After all, _nothing _was completely indestructible.

Leaning heavily on a makeshift cane - it was actually little more than a branch, cut down and debarked, with the smaller twigs cut off - Erik made his way over to her side. He had recovered quite a bit from the attack already, but he was still pale and drawn. He lost his breath more easily, and, though he hated every moment, was obliged to go without his mask. It was safely tucked away in Arabelle's pack.

"You'll run yourself into the ground, my dearest," he whispered, gently draping one arm around Arabelle's shoulders. The girl was a little out of breath, and the color had risen slightly in her face, and it was as though Erik was struck by a bolt of lightning; what if, under that strong, resilient exterior, lay her father's unreliable heart? What if, like him, it was only a matter of time before she pushed herself too far? Before her sterling health ran out? What if -

"What if they attack again?" Arabelle whispered, and in the quiet evening, her voice was intense and sharply determined. "I _must _be ready." She sheathed her sword, and looked up at him, and suddenly, the fierce battle maid vanished, and she was Arabelle Destler again.

"Are you alright, Papa?" she asked, wondering why he had taken on the exertion of coming to her. Indeed, Erik was panting quietly, and his face was pale from the attempt. He was regaining his strength, yes, but slowly. "You do not look well..."

Erik shook his head.

"I'm alright, dearest," he assured her. "Come and eat."

Arabelle smiled, and followed her father back to the fire.

"You are progressing very well," Strider commented as the group ate. "I am impressed, Arabelle."

Arabelle blushed slightly, and ducked her head. She was never very good with praise; it made her feel small, somehow. It was nice, but uncomfortable at the same time.

"Thank you," she whispered, head down and cheeks pink.

"Tomorrow I shall teach you some more advanced moves."

Arabelle's head shot up, and she smiled eagerly. Beside the need to fight for self defense, Arabell found that she _enjoyed _learning to fight. It all came so naturally to her. There was something in the movements that seemed familiar.

After dinner, they all settled down for the night. It was dark, it was late, and they needed to be rested for tomorrow.

But Arabelle couldn't sleep. They had already been almost week in getting to where they were, now. They could not dare to travel by the road, and they had still over a week to go. Erik, she knew, would be alright with time, but every day, Frodo seemed to get slowly worse. Whatever poison that blade had put into him, it was not going to run its course, and leave his system.

Strider had not told any of them exactly what was happening to Frodo, but whatever it was, it could not be good.

"You ought to be asleep."

Strider's quiet voice cut through the silence like a knife, and Arabelle jumped. The Ranger was sitting on a rock nearby, his face lit faintly by the embers in his pipe.

"What is the matter?" Strider asked gently, recognizing the trouble buried in Arabelle's eyes.

She didn't want to sound childish. Arabelle knew that she would sound petulant, insisting Strider tell her what was wrong with Frodo. He clearly did not want to tell, which meant it must be for good reason.

Likely as not, the poison was going to kill him. That was probably why the Ranger would not say. To know that they were racing toward Rivendell, for nothing, that Frodo would probably not make it – that would kill their hope. Their drive to get there safely would wane, and it would only be a matter of time before they were found again by those Wraiths, and they all were killed.

That could not be allowed to happen. Ever. Arabelle sighed.

"I know why you will not tell us what the poison will do to Frodo," she whispered, standing and walking toward the rock.

Strider was silent for a long time.

"You know."

Arabelle nodded sadly.

"He's dying, isn't he?" she murmured, looking for confirmation in Strider's eyes. "That's why you won't say. You do not want to upset the others."

Surprise entered Strider's eyes for a moment, and then he sighed, shaking his head.

"In a way, yes," he replied. "If Frodo does not receive aid in time, the hobbit we know will be lost forever."

Arabelle looked frightened.

"Is there _nothing _you can do?"

Strider shook his head. He had told them at Weathertop that Frodo needed elvish medicine to heal him, but surely the Ranger could slow down the process?

"I fear not," he sighed. "Beyond the Athelas, there is nothing. If we cannot get him to Rivendell in time, Frodo will become a Wraith himself."

Become one of those creatures? The thought made Arabelle shiver. How could she have failed Frodo so badly? Had she known what it would mean for him to be injured by those demons, she would never have left his side when they were attacked.

"This was not your fault, Arabelle," Strider said suddenly, having seen Arabelle's eyes move to where Frodo lay. "You could not have known what would happen, and had you been in the way, that Wraith would have killed you to get to him. There is nothing you could have done."

Arabelle sighed.

"I know," she whispered. "Still, I wish…"

"So do I, Arabelle," Strider agreed. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder that reminded her remarkably of her father, and smiled softly. "Get some sleep. We have many long days ahead of us."

* * *

Two days later found them following a small path, one that had long ago become so overgrown that only someone who knew it by heart could follow it. The trees grew close overhead, making the light patchy at best.

Arabelle walked beside Bill, keeping a sharp eye on Frodo, and the other on her father. Erik was still weak, but he was recovering. Frodo, on the other hand, had trouble sitting on Bill, now. He murmured from time to time about an icy fog, lucid enough to ask Strider why the fog was present, but not enough to understand that it was only a fog in his mind, clouding his thoughts; a result of the poisoned knife tip working its way ever closer to his heart. Arabelle shook her head violently to banish that train of thought. She _would not _let worry take over her_._

On Bill's other side was Sam, guiding the pony by his reigns. He spoke softly, from time to time, to Pippin, but not often. Arabelle was silent all the way. Even Erik could not get her to talk for more than a few seconds.

That worried him. Erik knew better than anyone what Arabelle was like. For her to be this quiet, something was wrong.

Was she ill? The thought made his stomach twist in fear. Right now, she was the only thing he had left, and if he could not protect her…

_She's stronger than that, _whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Christine's. Erik smiled slightly for a moment, but the realization of the many miles that lay between him and her made Erik ache. He missed his Christine so terribly. And Charles, as well.

Not for the first time, he wondered if they were safe. Had they made it to Rivendell in one piece? And what about Jillianna? He had just as much, if not more, of an obligation to her parents and to Addison to keep her from harm.

Thinking and wondering about their safety only made him feel physically ill, though. There was nothing he could do, anyway, much as he wished there was.

Strider, too, was worried. Though the others could not have marked the change, for none of them understood the course of the poison in Frodo's system, the Ranger had noticed a disturbing turn in Frodo's condition. The hobbit had begun to shiver almost constantly, and from time to time, he muttered in his sleep; not the Common Tongue, but the dark, gutteral language of Mordor. Frodo was fading, and there was a good chance he would not last all the way to Rivendell.

The Ranger had noticed, too, that Arabelle was hiding something. At first, he'd not noticed, then he'd thought nothing of it. Now, he was sure there was something wrong with her arm. It seemed that whatever the matter was, it built as time went on. Yesterday, she'd had trouble fighting from a high guard. Today, she was favoring the arm, and when they stopped for lunch at midday, she leaned on her left arm for only a second, then hurriedly switched to leaning on her right. Strider determined to talk to her the first chance he got.

The chance came shortly after their company had stopped for the night. Strider took Arabelle aside, ostensibly for a lesson, but he fully intened to drag out of her the truth about her arm.

"You are hiding an injury," the Ranger said flatly, as soon as they were out of earshot. Arabelle looked up sharply, startled that Strider could have discovered her secret. She'd been so careful to keep it.

Yes, her arm hurt her. It had been getting worse since a few days after the Wraiths had attacked. At first, it was simply stiff, and she'd thought that perhaps she'd pulled a muscle with all her practicing of late. Then it had begun to hurt. At first, it was only when she put weight on the limb, now a dull throb spread from her forearm all the time, and the skin seemed to be getting darker where the Wraith had grabbed her. She'd never been so grateful for long sleeved dresses.

But to hear Strider guess so accurately surprised Arabelle, and without thinking, she reached for her left arm. After a long moment of staring into Strider's gray eyes, she sighed and lowered her head.

"Yes," she whispered. "I did not say anything because it did not bother me at first. After that, I thought I had simply strained the muscles. Now..." Arabelle shrugged, and looked back up at Strider.

"Now it is getting worse," he finished, and Arabelle nodded, her eyes wide and frightened.

Strider frowned, and took Arabelle's arm. He pushed up her sleeve, mumbling a quick appology when she hissed from pain.

The skin around where the Nazgul had grabbed her resembled dark ashes in color, and the hand below was cold - not icy, like Frodo's, but cooler than average nevertheless. The longer Strider probed the area, the more Arabelle's arm began to burn like ice fire. She had to bite down hard to keep quiet, and she breathed roughly through her nose.

"You should have told me," Strider admonished. "There may be permanent loss of movement. Not much, mind," he added at Arabelle's horrified look, "but there may be some. An infusion of Athelas will help."

For a moment, Arabelle stood still as Strider started back toward the camp. Then she whirled around, and caught Strider's sleeve.

"Pappa cannot know!" she gasped, looking imploringly up at the Ranger. "He would blame himself! Please!"

Strider nodded, and offered a momentary smile.

"Come. I will see what can be done."

* * *

"_Why _would you hide something like this?"

Arabelle hung her head, clutching her left wrist loosely. Just a few minutes ago, Erik had discovered the athalas-soaked bandages Strider had wrapped around her arm last night. The Ranger had immediately commissioned Merry, Sam, and Pippin to help him find firewood. Frodo, nearly delirious, had been given a valerian tea to help him sleep, and remained unaware of the confrontation.

"I didn't want to worry you," she whispered.

Erik snarled, raking his fingers back through his hair.

"'Didn't want-' This is _exactly _why I did not want you coming out here alone!" he hissed, pacing angrily. Arabelle could see his chest heaving, and she began to worry.

"I was not alone," she reminded him, trying her best to be gentle.

"And look what good it did you!" Erik snapped. "They may have courage, but all four of them are barely half your height! I should never have let you go with them!"

That angered her. Up until now, Arabelle was used to her father accepting that she made her own decisions. The idea that he suddenly felt _he _dictated everything she did was a shock, and her head shot up.

"You didn't let me," she replied, her voice lacking the anger someone else's might have held. "I chose to accompany them."

"Well, not again," Erik grumbled darkly. "I won't allow it."

"I'm not a child -"

"YOU'RE _MY _CHILD!"

There was a heartbeat of silence, during which time Arabelle's eyes met and held her father's. The next thing Erik knew, Arabelle was attached to his chest, her arms around his shoulders, and her face buried in the crook of his neck. Arabelle nuzzled closer, as Erik's arms tightened around her.

"I can't lose you..."

The soft, fragile rasp in Erik's voice made it plain as day that Arabelle's father was not angry, but frightened. Terribly, terribly frightened. Now that he was still for a moment, Erik could feel that warning tightness beneath his ribcage.

"You won't, Papa," Arabelle breathed, close to tears.

"I thought I had..." Erik rasped, kissing her head several times over. He pushed her back to arm's length, and looked at her. "I love you, Arabelle. To know that you did not escape injury..."

Arabelle smiled softly, resting her head against her father's narrow chest.

"It will be alright," she whispered. "_I _am alright. Papa, I never meant to worry you."

Erik searched her eyes for a long moment, not because he didn't believe her, but because he suddenly saw so much of her mother in her eyes.

"I know," he sighed, pulling her back in close and stroking her hair. "I know..."

* * *

Again, everyone, I am very sorry for the long span of time between this update, and the last. Not only did I have everything I mentioned at the top of the chapter on me, but a very dear friend of mine turned me onto World of Warcraft. I promise I'll update again sooner.

Arabelle; You'd better.

Pippin; Yeah, why do we have to wait forever? I should think _we _would rate over a game; after all, you started this story first.

I know, I know. I'm sorry guys. I just got caught up.

Erik; Yes, well, according to your writings, I _do _have a life to get back to, so pick up the pace.

Hey! You know what? This is only going to take up the readers' time, so shh!

Review, please!


	17. The Rider

I'm so sorry... things got so far away from me of late, with my schooling and everything...

Everyone; grrrrrrr...

Um...

I'm gonna go hide now... bye!

The Rider

* * *

Rain poured down around them, and everyone, even Pippin, was silent and subdued. Not for the first time since Weathertop, Arabelle walked beside Erik, behind Bill. Since their argument the other day, she had done her best to be gentle and kind with her father, and had stayed very close to him the entire time.

Currently, Erik's arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and, though she had her own cloak to keep out the rain, Erik had insisted on sharing his with her, and Arabelle was glad. Not because she remained any dryer, but because it meant that they were alright. And even though the rain had her spirits down, there was a part of her that was untouched by the drenching and demoralizing cold. That part was beyond elated that she'd not hurt her relationship with her papa, and was content to stick herself to his side.

Erik, for his part, was still stunned by how close everything had come to disaster. He had known since Weathertop that it had been close, but just how close had escaped him. It stung like a knife wound, somewhere deep inside him. How could he have missed her slipping away from the fighting?

He'd panicked when he realized she was no longer in his sight. Then he'd caught a glimpse of her, just going over the edge of the dell, a Nazgul on her heels. Horror had turned to protective rage, and he'd come down on the rider with a fury. He just hadn't had the strength to keep up that fury. It had cost him dearly, but it was worth it. He was still weak, and if it came to fighting again any time soon, he was sure he'd suffer for it, but it had been worth it.

And yet, to know that even his best efforts had not saved her completely... Once again, Erik was reminded of how old he was - how slow. A dark little voice, one that had been mostly silent for sixteen years, spoke up now in the back of his mind.

_The _viscount_ would have been quick enough..._

The realization was still enough to give him pause, even though he'd seen it coming. How many times had he wondered, in private, how a certain situation might have gone were Raoul in his place? Certainly, they would have all been over sooner, and likely to better ends. The _viscount _would have been able to catch up to Charles before he'd fallen in the lake. The _viscount _would have been able to save Arabelle from the Nazgul without nearly dying himself. It was a tough realization, one that brought back much of the old emotions of the Phantom, and Erik found his free hand clenching in bitterness.

But Christine had chosen, and somehow, for the last sixteen years, she had managed to be happy with Erik. Old, crotchety, feeble Erik. He would forever be amazed and grateful, but he had long ago ceased to question. Dwelling on it would make what time he had fly too quickly.

And God knew there was precious little of it left.

Beside him, Arabelle sighed. Her expression had turned pensive, as though she were seeing something besides the road beneath their feet.

"What is it, 'belle?" he asked her, rubbing his hand against her shoulder. Arabelle sighed again, and leaned into his side. She did not speak, and Erik did not press her. He followed her gaze forward, and saw Frodo shivering on Bill's back.

He understood her concern. She was not the only one to have talked with Strider. That very night after he'd discovered Arabelle's injured arm, he'd spoken with their Ranger guide, about everything. Even Strider didn't expect Frodo to make it, so was it any wonder that his perceptive, keen-eyed daughter would feel the same? Rather than offer empty assurances - because he was _not _sure that Frodo would be all right - he simply pressed his lips to her temple, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

There was little he could do to assuage her fears, beside use his voice on her, but he could never do that knowingly. He knew she was susceptible, and the last thing he wanted to do was take away her free will and spirit.

The rain was dampening the latter enough, already.

Ahead of them, Strider's sharp eyes pierced the mist that was forming. The day was cold and wet, and soon, they would need to find a place to make camp for the night.

The driest place to be found was a large old tree that had upended in some long-ago storm. It was hollow, and its roots created a nice overhang so that the ground in front of it was dry. If there was any dry wood to be found, they could have a fire.

"We will stop here," Strider called back. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled Frodo from Bill's back, and carefully set him within the hollow tree, leaving him to the hands of the other hobbits. "I will scout the area."

"Strider," Arabelle warned, filled with a sudden dread. "Be careful..."

The Ranger smiled.

"Never fear, Arabelle. I will return soon. Watch over the little ones."

It took the better part of two hours for the small group to get a fire going, and even then, it was a small flame, and provided little warmth. Arabelle held Frodo in her lap; the wood beneath them was frigid, and the poor hobbit was already shivering. Everyone was soaked through, but there was no time or place to change their clothes; everything was cool, if not damp, and would only _get _damp sitting on the cold wood.

A chill breeze blew through their little hollow, and Pippin, sitting close on Arabelle's left, huddled closer, his teeth chattering. Smiling sympathetically, she wrapped an arm around him, and pressed him close. If it hadn't been so soggy, she'd have offered _all _the hobbits her cloak. As it was, another layer of thick, wet fabric would do more harm than good. Still, she motioned for Sam and Merry to come to her. She could not share her cloak with her little friends, but she could share comfort, and body heat.

Wrapped up in seeing to the hobbits, Arabelle did not notice her father's frown. He was concerned. Two hours had passed, and the third was approaching, with no sign of Strider. If something had happened to him, they would have no warning. They would be lost, without a guide.

And worse, if the Wraiths had found him, they would never know, not until it was far, far too late.

* * *

The snap of a twig rang loudly in Erik's ears. It was silent in the log. All four hobbits had fallen asleep waiting for Strider's return, and only he and Arabelle remained awake.

"Papa?"

Arabelle had heard it, too. Blindly reaching back, he motioned for her to be silent, and moved toward the outside. Stuck under the hobbits, Arabelle could not go with him.

Outside, the rain had long since ceased, but the mist remained. It was a thick fog, now, and Erik could not see more than a couple of feet. He knelt and took a log from the fire, wrapped the burning end in a torch-rag.

He stood guard out in front of the tree, sword in one hand, torch in the other. He was still not at his best. If he had to fight now, fight hard, he would fall. He'd managed to hide it well, even from his astute daughter, but he was still weak. A week and a half was hardly enough time to fully recover, but let the others think that it was; if they lost focus for worrying about him, or if Strider used supplies that Frodo needed on _him, _instead, they would be lost. There were more important things to worry about now than his frail old self.

A flicker of movement in the mist caught his attention, and Erik turned, ready to face the threat. A huge shape, vaguely human in origin, moved steadily toward him. Erik shifted his grip on the sword, tightening his hand around the leather handle. He would likely fall, but he _would _protect the others. At the very least, he could buy them the time they needed to escape. To what end, if Strider was not there to lead them, he did not know, but at least these foul riders would not kill his daughter.

"Papa!" Arabelle gasped, her eyes catching the figure in the fog.

"Go!" Erik hissed, not turning from his approaching opponent. "Get them out of here!"

"Hold, Erik; there is no need."

It was Strider. As he came into the small circle of firelight, his shadow diminished in height and became recognizable as their guide. His face was grim as he knelt by the small blaze.

"Something has frightened away most of the animals," he whispered, mindful of the sleeping hobbits. "I cannot be sure, but I fear..."

"They're closing in," Erik finished, his heart sinking. Arabelle bit her lip.

Strider sighed.

"I cannot be certain," he repeated. "It may only be that there are wolves in the area. A more natural, but just as dangerous, threat."

"Wouldn't we have heard them, Strider?" Arabelle murmured, looking frightened. Erik sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Not always," the Ranger replied, glancing askance at the two of them before turning his attention to the smoldering coals of the fire. "We must keep this lit, but small. The wild beasts - and, indeed, our enemies - have no love of fire." He produced a few leaves from some hidden pocket, crushed them, and threw them into the fire. Arabelle recognized the smell of Athelas immediately. She breathed deeply, letting the scent calm and relax her. Her thoughts slowed, and she smiled slightly.

Glancing at the hobbits huddled against her right side, and Frodo in her arms, that smile grew slightly. Though he was still pale and sweaty, Frodo's skin was clearer; it had lost the fearful duskiness, and the frown had left his face. Arabelle knew it was only temporary, related entirely to the Athelas, but it was still heartening. She began to wonder if maybe he _would _make it, after all.

Indeed, she could almost see it; rather than go straight home, Erik would learn what was needed to send them home from Lord Elrond, and they would return to the Shire with the hobbits for a while. She and Jill would explore that green, wonderful paradise with Frodo and the others, and Frodo would laugh and smile again.

It was with these images of her hobbit friends safe and happy, everyone sitting around Bag End, laughing about their crazy adventures, that she drifted into sleep.

* * *

"Arabelle..." Her father's voice was soft and kind as it pulled her from her dreams. Blinking, Arabelle smiled up into Erik's face, but panicked for an instant when she saw only the mask. The golden eyes in the eye-holes, and the gentle hand brushing a stray curl behind her ear, calmed her, and her papa's thin mouth curved into a small, understanding smile.

"Why must you wear it...?" she sighed, still only partially awake. She rubbed at her eyes, and returned to regarding him.

Erik frowned. For sixteen years, she had never questioned it. After the time when he'd first worn it in front of her, and she'd run from him - after he'd explained it all to her - she'd accepted that he would always have it. Old insecurities rose again, and he turned away.

"It isn't you, Papa," Arabelle murmured, taking his masked face in her hands and turning it back to look at her. "It's _false. _Do you think our friends care, Papa? The hobbits do not, and when has Strider ever not looked you in the eye because of your face?"

Erik scanned her face, and saw in it a hidden, unvoiced concern. The talk about his face not mattering was a front. Of course, it was the truth, but it was to hide even deeper reasons. She was worried about him; Erik was sure she knew it hindered his breathing. Letting out a breath, he reached up behind his head and undid the ties of his mask. The warm smile that greeted his real face as he removed the white leather made his heart soar. He smiled, and kissed her forehead.

"Come, dearest; it is time to go again."

Arabelle nodded, and sat up, surprised that the hobbits were not huddled on top of her. They were just out at the opening of the tree, getting ready. Strider was situating Frodo on Bill, and Sam was organizing things in his pack.

Smiling, Arabelle grabbed her bag and crouched out. Pippin was the first to notice her, and smiled up warmly as she approached. Nearby, Frodo seemed to come to himself a bit, and glanced over at the two, smiling a moment before his face filled with concern.

"Did something happen last night...?" he asked faintly, blue eyes burning into Arabelle's. The girl shook her head, and offered an encouraging smile.

"No, Frodo," she replied gently. "Just a case of mistaken identity when Strider returned. Did we wake you?"

The tiny hobbit shook his head, shivering. Arabelle did not miss the trembling, and knelt to dig in her pack for a blanket. It was a cool day, and she was sure some extra warmth would be appreciated. With light, careful hands, she wrapped the wool blanket around Frodo's narrow shoulders, noticing again how similar in size he was to her brother. The comparison made her miss Charles all the more.

_Be safe, little brother, _she thought, glancing at the treetops to the east. _I'm on my way._

* * *

Yesterday's rainclouds threatened to open up again after midday. The promise of rain had made the woods silent. A stiff, brisk wind blew through the woods, and the day was chill.

But though the clouds remained low and dark, rain did not fall. They were making slow, but steady, progress down a narrow path through dense trees - trees that grew so close to the road they had to walk single file. Somewhere along the way, Merry and Pippin had gotten ahead, and Strider was in the process of stopping the company to go and look for them when the two came barreling back up the path, wild-eyed and terrified.

Strider caught them both as they flew into the group, shouting and hollering over each other so that no one could understand.

"_One at a time!" _Strider snapped to get their attention. Once the two were looking at him - and silent - he said again, in a much gentler voice, "One at a time. What happened?"

There was only a heartbeat of silence that followed, but it felt like an eternity. Seeing the terror in Merry's and Pippin's eyes, Arabelle felt her own dread. What was so horrible that the two youngest hobbits - so cheerful and perky - would look so wildly frightened?

She did not miss her father reaching for his sword, and slowly, her hand came to rest on the tawny leather hilt of her own blade.

"_Trolls!" _Pippin gasped. "There are trolls, down in a clearing, not far! We got a sight of them through the trees!"

"They're _huge!_" Merry agreed.

A little bit of Arabelle's fear ebbed, if not much. It was not the danger, she'd feared, but -

"Then we ought to get away," Erik muttered, taking Bill's reins and stepping back, reaching out and tugging on Arabelle's hand. "Find another way around..."

Strider shook his head, and offered an odd look to Erik and Arabelle before returning to Merry and Pippin.

"We will come and look at them," the Ranger said, and there was something in his tone that made Arabelle wonder if he didn't know something that the two young hobbits didn't.

Strider led them down the path, and when they came to the place Merry and Pippin indicated as where they'd seen the trolls, he had them all duck into the underbrush. Arabelle and Sam helped Frodo down from Bill, and flanked him as they waited.

Through the trees, the trolls could indeed be seen. Beside her, Arabelle heard Frodo hiss - more in surprise and fear than in pain.

Merry had been right. The trolls were enormous; one was stooped down low, his hands hiding his face, and the other two were standing to their full height, looking at the first troll. One looked horrified.

Without warning, Strider stood and strode forward. He raised a stick Arabelle hadn't seen him pick up.

"Get up, old stone!" he commanded, bringing his stick down on the troll's side. The wood splintered, and a collective gasp rose from the group.

A sound Arabelle hadn't heard in well over a week startled her, but when she realized what it was, she smiled.

Frodo was laughing.

"We're forgetting our family history!" he grinned. "These must be the trolls from Bilbo's story. The ones Gandalf turned to stone!"

Arabelle blinked. Of everything Bilbo had told her and her family, that story had not come up.

"Turned trolls to stone...?" she murmured, confused. Sam looked up at her.

"Aye. Trolls turn to stone in the sunlight."

Arabelle nodded, smiling. What did it matter if she didn't quite understand; the trolls were no longer any threat.

For a few hours, they stopped and stayed beneath the trolls. Whatever strength had possessed Frodo earlier was fading, and he slumped wearily between Sam and Arabelle, until someone - they couldn't remember who afterward - lamented the length of time it had been since they'd heard any songs. Frodo muttered something about Weathertop, and suddenly, Sam was halfway through a song, and Arabelle had no idea where the time in between had gone.

_"...Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o lead,  
Afore I found his shinbone.  
Tinbone! Thinbone!  
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,  
For he don't need his shinbone. _

_Said Tom: I don't see why the likes o thee  
Without axin leave should go makin' free  
With the shank or the shin o my father's kin;  
So hand the old bone over!  
Rover! Trover!  
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;  
So hand the old bone over!_

_For a couple o pins, says Troll, and grins,_  
_'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins._  
_A bit o fresh meal will go down sweet!_  
_I'll try my teeth on thee now._  
_Hee now! See now!_  
_I'm tired o gnawing old bones and skins;_  
_I've a mind to dine on thee now. '_

_But just as he thought his dinner was caught,_  
_He found his hands had hold of naught._  
_Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind_  
_And gave him the boot to larn him._  
_Warn him! Darn him!_  
_A bump o the boot on the seat, Tom thought,_  
_Would be the way to larn him._

_But harder than stone is the flesh and bone_  
_Of a troll that sits in the hills alone._  
_As well set your boot to the mountain's root,_  
_For the seat of a troll don't feel it._  
_Peel it! Heal it!_  
_Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,_  
_And he knew his toes could feel it._

_Tom's leg is game, since home he came,_  
_And his bootless foot is lasting lame;_  
_But Troll don't care, and he's still there_  
_With the bone he boned from its owner._  
_Doner! Boner!_  
_Troll's old seat is still the same,_  
_And the bone he boned from its owner!"_

Everyone laughed, and even with his fading strength, Frodo managed a weak smile. He shivered suddenly, and Arabelle briskly rubbed his arm, pressing him closer against her side. The cheerful mood that had settled over them while they ate was all but gone, now.

"I think it would be unwise to continue this afternoon," Arabelle whispered, not looking up. Frodo had slipped into sleep almost immediately after Sam's song, and the girl tugged him gently into her lap so that he was off the cold ground.

"We must, Arabelle," Strider sighed, shaking his head. "We have no choice."

"He won't even be able to stay in the saddle," she argued, and next to her, Pippin nodded.

"We do not have the time to debate this," the Ranger grumbled, frowning. "We _must _continue. Frodo does not have the time."

"Nor does he have the strength to sit astride a horse!" Arabelle retorted, protectively pressing Frodo closer against her. "The more strain on him, the faster the poison will work!"

"_Listen!"_

Sam's voice broke the argument. His tone was high and urgent, and his eyes held fear. The company froze, and listened. In the distance, they could hear the sound of horse hooves. Arabelle went pale.

"They've found us..." she murmured, rising and backing away from the sound. In her arms, Frodo stirred just a bit.

"Take cover!" Strider hissed. "_Quickly!_"

The group scrambled toward the brush on either side of the trolls' clearing, scattering. With Frodo clutched against her chest, Arabelle huddled behind the stooping troll.

There had been so little warning - no time to run. They were trapped, now, and if more than one of the Nazgul had come, they would be found out. The hoof beats grew louder, and slowed. The unknown rider stopped between the trolls, and a soft thump indicated that whoever was there had dismounted.

Arabelle's heart pounded, and she clutched Frodo tightly. Slowly, she chanced a glance out from her hiding place.

Strider, Merry, and Pippin were crouched within some bushes across the clearing (their guide motioned for her to be silent). Her father and Samwise she could not see.

But she _could _see the rider. Robed in black like the others, this one had a _white _horse. And when the rider drew back their hood, Arabelle saw pale, slender arms, and a fall of ink-black hair. But to Arabelle, that meant nothing, and she quickly ducked back around as the rider turned in her direction.

Twisting her head so that she could see Strider, but still be hidden, Arabelle saw the Ranger's face change. He stood, and moved out of hiding.

"_Arwen!" _

The figure turned, and Arabelle saw their face clearly. It was a woman; tall - taller than Christine (almost as tall as Strider) - and fair. Her skin was snowy white, and even at a distance, Arabelle could see that her eyes were a piercing blue.

"Come out, all of you," Strider called suddenly. "We are safe."

Arabelle didn't move, at first. She saw Merry and Pippin move, and at the top of the third troll, she saw a flicker of movement as her father slid down. Erik reached up, and then Arabelle saw Sam fall into view. Taking a steadying breath, she stood up herself, and moved forward.

* * *

And another chapter done.

Guys, I swear; I didn't mean for it to take ten months... Jeeze, I can't believe time got away from me so much. And this chapter just didn't want to come out all at once, dangit, or it would have been up much sooner. Again, I really am sorry.

Review, please!


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